EDOCITION  LIBR, 


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OF 

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LOB  LIE-BY-THE-FIRE 

OR 

THE    LUCK    OF    LINGBOROUGH 

AND   OTHER  STORIES 

BY 

JULIANA   HORATIA    EWING 


NEW  YORK:  46  EAST  14TH  STREET 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO. 

BOSTON:  100  Purchase  Street 


Copyright,  1893, 
By  THOMAS   Y.   CROWELL  &  CO. 

fiducatioa 

Add'l 

GIFT 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,    Mass.,  U.S.A. 


15-^ 

£eUtc. 


LOB   LIE-BY-THE-FIRE    • 


THE    LUCK    OF    LINGBOROUGH 


339 


TO 

JAMES   BOYN   McCOMBIE,   Esq. 
OF  Aberdeen 

THIS  LITTLE   BOOK  IS  VERY  AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 

J.    H.    E. 


LOB   LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


3j«<C 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Lob  LiE-BY-THE-FiRE  —  the  Lubber-fiend,  as 
Milton  calls  him  —  is  a  rough  kind  of  Brownie 
or  House  Elf,  supposed  to  haunt  some  north- 
country  homesteads,  where  he  does  the  work 
of  the  farm  laborers,  for  no  grander  wages  than 

" to  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set." 

(5) 


O  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

Not   that  he  is  insensible  of  the  pleasures  of 
rest,  for 

" When,  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 

His  shadowy  flail  hath  threshed  the  corn 
That  ten  day-laborers  could  not  end. 
Then  lies  him  down  the  Lubber-fiend, 
And,  stretched  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength." 

It  was  said  that  a  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire  once 
haunted  the  little  old  Hall  at  Lingborough.  It 
was  an  old  stone  house  on  the  Borders,  and 
seemed  to  have  got  its  tints  from  the  gray  skies 
that  hung  above  it.  It  was  cold-looking  with- 
out, but  cosy  within,  "like  a  north-country 
heart,"  said  Miss  Kitty,  who  was  a  woman  of 
sentiment,  and  kept  a  commonplace  book. 

It  was  long  before  Miss  Kitty's  time  that 
Lob  Lie-by-the-fire  first  came  to  Lingborough. 
Why  and  whence  he  came  is  not  recorded,  nor 
when  and  wherefore  he  withdrew  his  valuable 
help,  which,  as  wages  rose,  and  prices  rose  also, 
would  have  been  more  welcome  than  ever. 


INTRODUCTORY.  7 

This  tale  professes  not  to  record  more  of  him 
than  comes  within  the  memory  of  man. 

Whether  (as  Fletcher  says)  he  were  the  son 
of  a  witch,  if  curds  and  cream  won  his  heart, 
and  new  clothes  put  an  end  to  his  labors,  it 
does  not  pretend  to  tell.  His  history  is  less 
known  than  that  of  any  other  sprite.  It  may 
be  embodied  in  some  oral  tradition  that  shall 
one  day  be  found ;  but  as  yet  the  mists  of 
forgetfulness  hide  it  from  the  story-teller  of 
to-day  as  deeply  as  the  sea  fogs  are  wont  to  lie 
between  Lingborough  and  the  adjacent  coast. 


LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


THE    LITTLE    OLD    LADIES.  — ALMS    DONE 
IN   SECRET. 

The  little  old  ladies  of  Lingborough  were 
heiresses. 

Not,  mind  you,  in  the  sense  of  being  the 
children  of  some  mushroom  millionnaire,  with 
more  money  than  manners,  and  (as  Miss  Betty 
had  seen  with  her  own  eyes,  on  the  daughter  of 
a  manufacturer  who  shall  be  nameless)  dresses 
so  fine  in  quality  and  be-furbelowed  in  construc- 
tion as  to  cost  a  good  quarter's  income  (of  the 
little  old  ladies),  but  trailed  in  the  dirt  from 
"beggarly  extravagance,"  or  kicked  out  behind 
at  every  step  by  feet  which  fortune  (and  a  very 
large  fortune,  too)  had  never  taught  to  walk 
properly. 

**And  how  should  she  know  how  to  walk.-*" 
said    Miss    Betty.     ''  Her    mother    can't    have 


WHAT    IS    BRED    IN    THE    BONE.  9 

taught  her,  poor  body !  that  ran  through  the 
streets  of  Leith,  with  a  creel  on  her  back,  as  a 
lassie ;  and  got  out  of  her  coach  (lined  with 
satin,  you  mind,  sister  Kitty?)  to  her  dying 
day,  with  a  bounce,  all  in  a  heap,  her  dress 
caught,  and  her  stockings  exposed  (among  our- 
selves, ladies!)  like  some  good  wife  that's 
afraid  to  be  late  for  the  market.  Aye,  aye ! 
Malcolm  Midden  —  good  man!  —  made  a  fine 
pocket  of  silver  in  a  dirty  trade,  but  his 
women'll  jerk,  and  toss,  and  bounce,  and  fuss, 
and  fluster  for  a  generation  or  two  yet,  for 
all  the  silks  and  satins  he  can  buy  'em." 

From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  the  little 
old  ladies  inherited  some  prejudices  of  their 
class,  and  were  also  endowed  with  a  shrewd- 
ness of  observation  common  among  all  classes 
of  north-country  women. 

But  to  return  to  what  else  they  inherited. 
They  were  heiresses,  as  the  last  representatives 
of  a  family  as  old  in  that  Border  country  as 
the   bold   blue   hills    which   broke    its    horizon. 


10  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

They  were  heiresses  also  in  default  of  heirs 
male  to  their  father,  who  got  the  land  from  his 
uncle's  dying  childless  —  sons  being  scarce  in 
the  family.  They  were  heiresses,  finally,  to 
the  place  and  the  farm,  to  the  furniture  that 
was  made  when  folk  seasoned  their  wood  before 
they  worked  it,  to  a  diamond  brooch  which  they 
wore  by  turns,  besides  two  diamond  rings,  and 
two  black  lace  shawls,  that  had  belonged  to 
their  mother  and  their  Auntie  Jean,  long  since 
departed  thither  where  neither  moth  nor  rust 
corrupt  the  true  riches. 

As  to  the  incomings  of  Lingborough,  ''It 
was  nobody's  business  but  their  own,"  as  Miss 
Betty  said  to  the  lawyer  who  was  their  man  of 
business,  and  whom  they  consulted  on  little 
matters  of  rent  and  repairs  at  as  much  length, 
and  with  as  much  formal  solemnity,  as  would 
have  gone  elsewhere  to  the  changing  hands  of 
half  a  million  of  money.  Without  violating 
their  confidence,  however,  we  may  say  that  the 
estate  paid  its  way,  kept  them  in  silk  stockings, 


OUR    CONTENT    IS    OUR    BEST    HAVING.  I  I 

and  gave  them  new  tabbinet  dresses  once  in 
three  years.  It  supplied  their  wants  the  better 
that  they  had  inherited  house  plenishing  from 
their  parents,  "which  they  thanked  their  stars 
was  not  made  of  tag-rag,  and  would  last  their 
time,"  and  that  they  were  quite  content  with 
an  old  home  and  old  neighbors,  and  never 
desired  to  change  the  grand  air  that  blew 
about  their  native  hills  for  worse,  in  order  to 
be  poisoned  with  bad  butter,  and  make  the 
fortunes  of  extortionate  lodging-house  keepers. 

The  rental  of  Lingborough  did  more.  How 
much  more  the  little  old  ladies  did  not  know 
themselves,  and  no  one  else  shall  know,  till 
that  which  was  done  in  secret  is  proclaimed 
from  the  housetops. 

For  they  had  had  a  religious  scruple,  founded 
upon  a  literal  reading  of  the  scriptural  com- 
mand that  a  man's  left  hand  should  not  know 
what  his  right  hand  gives  in  alms,  and  this 
scruple  had  been  ingeniously  set  at  rest  by  the 
parson,  who,  failing  in  an  attempt  to  explain 


12  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

the  force  of  eastern  hyperbole  to  the  little 
ladies'  satisfaction,  had  said  that  Miss  Betty, 
being  the  elder,  and  the  head  of  the  house, 
might  be  hkened  to  the  right  hand,  and  Miss 
Kitty,  as  the  younger,  to  the  left,  and  that  if 
they  pursued  their  good  works  without  ostenta- 
tion, or  desiring  the  applause  even  of  each  other, 
the  spirit  of  the  injunction  would  be  fulfilled. 

The  parson  was  a  good  man  and  a  clever. 
He  had  (as  Miss  Betty  justly  said)  a  very 
spiritual  piety.  But  he  was  also  gifted  with 
much  shrewdness  in  dealing  with  the  various 
members  of  his  flock.  And  his  word  was  law 
to  the  sisters. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  little  ladies' 
charities  were  not  known  even  to  each  other — 
that  Miss  Betty  turned  her  morning  camlet  twice 
instead  of  once,  and  Miss  Kitty  denied  herself 
in  sugar,  to  carry  out  benevolent  little  projects 
which  were  accomplished  in  secret,  and  of 
which  no  record  appears  in  the  Lingborough 
Ledger. 


AT   TEA    WITH    MRS.    DUNMAW.  1 3 

The  little  ladies  of  Lingborough  were  very 
sociable,  and  there  was,  as  they  said,  **  as  much 
gaiety  as  was  good  for  anyone  "  within  their 
reach.  There  were  at  least  six  houses  at  which 
they  drank  tea  from  time  to  time,  all  within  a 
walk.  As  hosts  or  guests,  you  always  met  the 
same  people,  which  was  a  friendly  arrangement, 
and  the  programmes  of  the  entertainments  were 
so  uniform,  that  no  one  could  possibly  feel  awk- 
ward. The  best  of  manners  and  home-made 
wines  distinguished  these  tea  parties,  where  the 
company  was  strictly  genteel,  if  a  Httle  faded. 
Supper  was  served  at  nine,  and  the  parson  and 
the  lawyer  played  whist  for  love  with  different 
partners  on  different  evenings  with  strict  im- 
partiality. 

Small  jealousies  are  apt  to  be  weak  points 
in  small  societies,  but  there  was  a  general  ac- 
quiescence in  the  belief  that  the  parson  had  a 
friendly  preference  for  the  little  ladies  of  Ling- 
borough. 

He  lived   just  beyond   them,  too,  which  led 


14  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

to  his  invariably  escorting  them  home.  Miss 
Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  would  not  for  worlds  have 
been  so  indelicate  as  to  take  this  attention  for 
granted,  though  it  was  a  custom  of  many  years' 
standing.  The  older  sister  always  went  through 
the  form  of  asking  the  younger  to  "  see  if  the 
servant  had  come,"  and  at  this  signal  the  parson 
always  bade  the  lady  of  the  house  good-night, 
and  respectfully  proffered  his  services  as  an 
escort  to  Lingborough. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening  in  June,  when  the 
little  ladies  took  tea  with  the  widow  of  General 
Dunmaw  at  her  cottage,  not  quite  two  miles 
from  their  own  home. 

It  was  a  memorable  evening.  The  tea  party 
was  an  agreeable  one.  The  little  ladies  had  new 
tabbinets  on,  and  Miss  Kitty  wore  the  diamond 
brooch.  Miss  Betty  had  played  whist  with  the 
parson,  and  the  younger  sister  (perhaps  because 
of  the  brooch)  had  been  favored  with  a  good 
deal  of  conversation  with  the  lawyer.  It  was 
an  honor,  because  the  lawyer  bore  the  reputa- 


BONS  MOTS  N  EPARGNENT  NULS.       1 5 

tion  of  an  esprit  forty  and  was  supposed  to  have, 
as  a  rule,  a  contempt  for  feminine  intellects, 
which  good  manners  led  him  to  veil  under  an 
almost  officious  politeness  in  society.  But  horr- 
ors are  apt  to  be  uneasy  blessings,  and  this  one 
was  at  least  as  harassing  as  gratifying.  For  a 
somewhat  monotonous  vein  of  sarcasm,  a  pain- 
ful power  of  producing  puns,  and  a  dexterity  in 
suggesting  doubts  of  everything,  were  the  main 
foundation  of  his  intellectual  reputation,  and 
Miss  Kitty  found  them  hard  to  cope  with.  And 
it  was  a  warm  evening. 

But  women  have  much  courage,  especially  to 
defend  a  friend  or.  a  'faith,  and  the  less  Miss 
Kitty  found  herself  prepared  for  the  conflict 
the  harder  she  esteemed  it  her  duty  to  fight. 
She  fought  for  Church  and  State,  for  parsons 
and  poor  people,  for  the  sincerity  of  her  friends, 
the  virtues  of  the  Royal  Family,  the  merit  of 
Dr.  Drugson's  prescriptions,  and  for  her  favorite 
theory  that  there  is  some  good  in  every  one  and 
some  happiness  to  be  found  everywhere. 


l6  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

She  rubbed  nervously  at  the  diamond  brooch 
with  her  thin  little  mittened  hands.  She  talked 
very  fast ;  and  if  the  lawyer  were  guilty  of  feel- 
ing any  ungallant  indifference  to  her  observa- 
tions, she  did  not  so  much  as  hear  his,  and  her 
cheeks  became  so  flushed  that  Mrs.  Dunmaw 
crossed  the  room  in  her  China  crape  shawl  and 
said,  *'  My  dear  Miss  Kitty,  I'm  sure  you  feel 
the  heat  very  much.  Do  take  my  fan,  which  is 
larger  than  yours." 

But  Miss  Kitty  was  saved  a  reply,  for  at  this 
moment  Miss  Betty  turned  on  the  sofa,  and 
said,  "  Dear  Kitty,  will  you  kindly  see  if  the 
servant  —  " 

And  the  parson  closed  the  volume  of  "  Friend- 
ship's Offering  "  which  lay  before  him,  and  ad- 
vanced towards  Mrs.  Dunmaw  and  took  leave  in 
his  own  dignified  way. 

Miss  Kitty  was  so  much  flustered  that  she 
had  not  even  presence  of  mind  to  look  for  the 
servant,  who  had  never  been  ordered  to  come, 
but  the  parson  relieved  her  by  saying  in   his 


BONS  MOTS  N  EPARGNENT  NULS.       IJ 

round,  deep  voice,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  refuse 
me  the  honor  of  seeing  you  home,  since  our 
roads  happen  to  lie  together."  And  she  was 
glad  to  get  into  the  fresh  air,  and  beyond  the 
doubtful  compliments  of  the  lawyer's  nasal 
suavity  —  "  You  have  been  very  severe  upon 
me  to-night.  Miss  Kitty.  I'm  sure  I  had  no 
notion  I  should  find  so  powerful  an  antagonist," 
eta 


1 8  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


MIDSUMMER   EVE.  — A   LOST   DIAMOND. 

It  was  Midsummer  Eve.  The  long  light  of 
the  North  was  pale  and  clear,  and  the  western 
sky  shone  luminous  through  the  fir-wood  that 
bordered  the  road.  Under  such  dim  lights 
colors  deepen,  and  the  great  bushes  of  broom, 
that  were  each  one  mass  of  golden  blossom, 
blazed  like  fairy  watch-fires  up  the  lane. 

Miss  Kitty  leaned  on  the  left  arm  of  the  par- 
son and  Miss  Betty  on  his  right.  She  chatted 
gaily,  which  left  her  younger  sister  at  leisure 
to  think  of  all  the  convincing  things  she  had 
not  remembered  to  say  to  the  lawyer,  as  the 
evening  breeze  cooled  her  cheeks. 

"A  grand  prospect  for  the  crops,  sir,"  said 
Miss  Betty  ;  *'  I  never  saw  the  broom  so  beauti- 
ful." But  as  she  leaned  forward  to  look  at 
the  yellow  blaze  which  foretells  good  luck  to 


"A  grand  prospect  for  the  crops,  sir/'  said  Miss  Betty; 
"  I  never  saw  the  broom  so  beautiful." 


(19) 


20  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

farmers,  as  it  shone  in  the  hedge  on  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  road,  she  caught  sight  of  the 
brooch  in  Miss  Kitty's  lace  shawl.  Through  a 
gap  in  the  wood  the  light  from  the  western  sky 
danced  among  the  diamonds.  But  where  one 
of  the  precious  stones  should  have  been,  there 
was  a  little  black  hole. 

**  Sister,  you've  lost  a  stone  out  of  your 
brooch ! "  screamed  Miss  Betty.  The  little  ladies 
were  well-trained,  and  even  in  that  moment  of 
despair  Miss  Betty  would  not  hint  that  her 
sister's  ornaments  were  not  her  sole  property. 

When  Miss  Kitty  burst  into  tears  the  parson 
was  a  little  astonished  as  well  as  distressed. 
Men  are  apt  to  be  so,  not  perhaps  because 
women  cry  on  such  very  small  accounts,  as 
because  the  full  reason  does  not  always  tran- 
spire. Tears  are  often  the  climax  of  nervous 
exhaustion,  and  this  is  commonly  the  result  of 
more  causes  than  one.  Ostensibly  Miss  Kitty 
was  "  upset "  by  the  loss  of  the  diamond,  but 
she  also  wept  away  a  good  deal  of  the  vexation 


WOMEN    LAUGH    WHEN    THEY    CAN.  21 

of  her  unequal  conflict  with  the  sarcastic  lawyer, 
and  of  all  this  the  parson  knew  nothing. 

Miss  Betty  knew  nothing  of  that,  but  she 
knew  enough  of  things  in  general  to  feel  sure 
that  the  diamond  was  not  all  the  matter. 

''What  is  amiss,  sister  Kitty.?"  said  she. 
"Have  you  hurt  yourself.-*  Do  you  feel  ill  .-* 
Did  you  know  the  stone  was  out.-*"  —  *' I  hope 
you're  not  going  to  be  hysterical,  sister  Kitty," 
added  Miss  Betty  anxiously  ;  '*  there  never  was 
a  hysterical  woman  in  our  family  yet." 

"  Oh  dear  no,  sister  Betty,"  sobbed  Miss 
Kitty ;  "  but  it's  all  my  fault.  I  know  I  was 
fidgeting  with  it  whilst  I  was  talking ;  and  it's 
a  punishment  on  my  fidgety  ways,  and  for  ever 
presuming  to  wear  it  at  all,  when  you're  the 
head  of  the  family,  and  solely  entitled  to  it. 
And  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  if  it's  lost, 
and  if  it's  found  I'll  never,  never  wear  it  any 
more."  And  as  she  deluged  her  best  company 
pocket-handkerchief  (for  the  useful  one  was  in 
a  big  pocket  under  her  dress,  and  could  not  be 


22         .  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

got  at,  the  parson  being  present),  Church, 
State,  the  Royal  Family,  the  family  Bible,  her 
highest  principles,  her  dearest  affections,  and 
the  diamond  brooch,  all  seemed  to  swim  before 
her  disturbed  mind  in  one  sea  of  desolation. 

There  was  not  a  kinder  heart  than  the 
parson's  towards  women  and  children  in  dis- 
tress. He  tucked  the  little  ladies  again  under 
his  arms,  and  insisted  upon  going  back  to  Mrs. 
Dunmaw's,  searching  the  lane  as  they  went. 
In  the  pulpit  or  the  drawing-room  a  ready 
anecdote  never  failed  him,  and  on  this  occasion 
he  had  several.  Tales  of  lost  rings,  and  even 
single  gems,  recovered  in  the  most  marvellous 
manner  and  the  most  unexpected  places  —  dug 
up  in  gardens,  served  up  to  dinner  in  fishes, 
and  so  forth.  "  Never,"  said  Miss  Kitty,  after- 
wards, "  never,  to  her  dying  day,  could  she 
forget  his  kindness." 

She  clung  to  the  parson  as  a  support  under 
both  her  sources  of  trouble,  but  Miss  Betty  ran 
on   and   back,  and   hither  and  thither,  looking 


TREASURE    LOST.  23 

for  the  diamond.  Miss  Kitty  and  the  parson 
looked  too,  and  how  many  aggravating  little 
bits  of  glass  and  silica,  and  shining  nothings 
and  good-for-nothings  there  are  in  the  world,  no 
one  would  believe  who  has  not  looked  for  a 
lost  diamond  on  a  high  road. 

But  another  story  of  found  jewels  was  to  be 
added  to  the  parson's  stock.  He  had  bent  his 
long  back  for  about  the  eighteenth  time,  when 
such  a  shimmer  as  no  glass  or  silica  can  give 
flashed  into  his  eyes,  and  he  caught  up  the 
diamond  out  of  the  dust,  and  it  fitted  exactly 
into  the  little  black  hole. 

Miss  Kitty  uttered  a  cry,  and  at  the  same 
moment  Miss  Betty,  who  was  farther  down  the 
road,  did  the  same,  and  these  were  followed  by 
a  third,  which  sounded  like  a  mocking  echo  of 
both.     And  then  the  sisters  rushed  together. 

*'  A  most  miraculous  discovery ! "  gasped 
Miss  Betty. 

"  You  must  have  passed  the  very  spot  before," 
cried  Miss  Kitty. 


24  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

"Though  Vm  sure,  sister,  what  to  do  with  it 
now  we  have  found  it  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  rubbing  her  nose,  as  she  was  wont  to  do 
when  puzzled. 

*'It  shall  be  taken  better  care  of  for  the 
future,  sister  Betty,"  said  Miss  Kitty,  peni- 
tently. "  Though  how  it  got  out  I  can't  think 
now." 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul !  you  don't  suppose 
it  got  there  of  itself,  sister.?"  snapped  Miss 
Betty.  ''How  it  did  get  there  is  another 
matter." 

"  I  felt  pretty  confident  about  it,  for  my  own 
part,"  smiled  the  parson  as  he  joined  them. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  you  knew  it 
was  there  ? "  asked  Miss  Betty,  solemnly. 

"I  didn't  know  the  precise  spot,  my  dear 
madam,  but  —  " 

"  You  didn't  see  it,  sir,  I  hope  } "  said  Miss 
Betty. 

"Bless  me,  my  dear  madam,  I  found  it!" 
cried  the  parson. 


TREASURE    TROVE.  2^ 

Miss  Betty  bridled  and  bit  her  lip. 

''  I  never  contradict  a  clergyman,  sir,"  said 
she,  "  but  I  can  only  say  that  if  you  did  see  it, 
it  was  not  like  your  usual  humanity  to  leave  it 
lying  there." 

I've  got  it  in  my  hand,  ma'am  !  " 


"  Why 

'  He's  got  it  in  his  hand,  sister ! 

cried  the  parson  and  Miss  Kitty  in  one  breath. 

Miss  Betty  was  too  much  puzzled  to  be  polite. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about } "  she  asked. 

"  The  diamond,  oh  dear,  oh  dear  !  T/ie  dia- 
mond!'' cried  Miss  Kitty.  "But  what  are  you 
talking  about,  sister.'*" 

"  The  Baby;'  said  Miss  Betty. 


26  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


WHAT   MISS   BETTY   FOUND. 

It  was  found  under  a  broom-bush.  Miss 
Betty  was  poking  her  nose  near  the  bank  that 
bordered  the  wood,  in  her  hunt  for  the  diamond, 
when  she  caught  sight  of  a  mass  of  yellow  of 
a  deeper  tint  than  the  mass  of  broom-blossom- 
above  it,  and  this  was  the  baby. 

This  vivid  color,  less  opaque  than  ''deep 
chrome"  and  a  shade  more  orange,  seems  to 
have  a  peculiar  attraction  for  wandering  tribes. 
Gipsies  use  it,  and  it  is  a  favorite  color  with 
Indian  squaws.  To  the  last  dirty  rag  it  is 
effective,  whether  if  flutters  near  a  tent  on 
Bagshot  Heath,  or  in  some  wigwam  doorway 
makes  a  point  of  brightness  against  the  gray 
shadows  of  the  pine  forest. 

A  large  kerchief  of  this,  wound  about  its 
body,  was  the  baby's  only  robe,  but  he  seemed 


UNDER    THE    BROOM-BUSH. 


27 


quite  comfortable  in  it  when  Miss  Betty  found 
him,  sleeping  on  a  pillow  of  deep  hair  moss, 
his  little  brown  fists  closed  as  fast  as  his  eyes, 
and  a  crimson  toadstool  grasped  in  one  of  them. 
When  Miss  Betty  screamed  the  baby  awoke. 


and  his  long  black  lashes  tickled  his  cheeks 
and  made  him  wink  and  cry.  But  by  the  time 
she  returned  with  her  sister  and  the  parson, 
he  was  quite  happy  again,  gazing  up  with  dark 
eyes  full   of   delight   into  the  glowing  broom- 


28  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

bush,  and  fighting  the  evening  breeze  with 
his  feet,  which  were  entangled  in  the  folds 
of  the  yellow  cloth,  and  with  the  battered 
toadstool  which  was  still  in  his  hand. 

"And,  indeed,  sir,"  said  Miss  Betty,  who  had 
rubbed  her  nose  till  it  looked  like  the  twin 
toadstool  to  that  which  the  baby  was  flourish- 
ing in  her  face,  ''you  won't  suppose  I  would 
have  left  the  poor  little  thing  another  moment, 
to  catch  its  death  of  cold  on  a  warm  evening 
like  this ;  but  having  no  experience  of  such 
cases,  and  remembering  that  murder  at  the  inn 
in  the  Black  Valley,  and  that  the  body  was  not 
allowed  to  be  moved  till  the  constables  had 
seen  it,  I  didn't  feel  to  know  how  it  might  be 
with  foundlings,  and  —  " 

But  still  Miss  Betty  did  not  touch  the  bairn. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  children.  But  the 
parson  had  christened  too  many  babies  to  be 
afraid  of  them,  and  he  picked  up  the  little 
fellow  in  a  moment,  and  tucked  the  yellow  rag 
round  him,  and  then  addressing  the  little  ladies 


AN    UNANSWERED    QUESTION.  29 

precisely  as  if  they  were  sponsors,  he  asked  in 
his  deep  round  voice,  "  Now  where  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  are  the  vagabonds  who  have  de- 
serted this  child  ?  " 

The  little  ladies  did  not  know,  the  broom- 
bushes  were  silent,  and  the  question  has 
remained  unanswered  from  that  day  to  this. 


30  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


THE   BABY,   THE   LAWYER,   AND   THE 
PARSON. 

There  were  no  railways  near  Lingborough  at 
this  time.  The  coach  ran  three  times  a  week, 
and  a  walking  postman  brought  the  letters  from 
the  town  to  the  small  hamlets.  Telegraph 
,  wires  were  unknown,  and  yet  news  travelled 
quite  as  fast  then  as  it  does  now,  and  in  the 
course  of  the  following  morning  all  the  neigh- 
borhood knew  that  Miss  Betty  had  found  a 
baby  under  a  broom-bush,  and  the  lawyer  called 
in  the  afternoon  to  inquire  how  the  ladies  found 
themselves  after  the  tea  party  at  Mrs.  General 
Dunmaw's. 

Miss  Kitty  was  glad  on  the  whole.  She  felt 
nervous,  but  ready  for  a  renewal  of  hostilities. 
Several  clinching  arguments  had  occurred  to 
her  in  bed  last  night,  and  after  hastily  looking 


THE  DAY  AFTER  THE  PARTY.        3 1 

up  a  few  lines  from  her  common-place  book, 
which  always  made  her  cry  when  she  read 
them,  but  which  she  hoped  to  be  able  to  hurl  at 
the  lawyer  with  a  steady  voice,  she  followed 
Miss  Betty  to  the  drawing-room. 

It  was  half  a  relief  and  half  a  disappointment 
to  find  that  the  lawyer  was  quite  indifferent  to 
the  subject  of  their  late  contest.  He  over- 
flowed with  compliments ;  was  quite  sure  he 
must  have  had  the  worst  of  the  argument,  and 
positively  dying  of  curiosity  to  hear  about  the 
baby. 

The  little  ladies  were  very  full  of  the  subject 
themselves.  An  active  search  for  the  baby's 
relations,  conducted  by  the  parson,  the  clerk, 
the  farm-bailiff,  the  constable,  the  cow-herd, 
and  several  supernumeraries,  had  so  far  proved 
quite  vain.  The  country  folk  were  most 
anxious  to  assist,  especially  by  word  of  mouth. 
Except  a  small  but  sturdy  number  who  had 
seen  nothing,  they  had  all  seen  "  tramps,"  but 
unluckily  no  two  could  be  got  together  whose 


32  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

accounts  of  the  tramps  themselves,  of  the  hour 
at  which  they  were  seen,  or  of  the  direction  in 
which  they  went,  would  tally  with  each  other. 

The  little  ladies  were  quite  alive  to  the  pos- 
sibility that  the  child's  parents  might  never  be 
traced,  indeed  the  matter  had  been  constantly 
before  their  minds  ever  since  the  parson  had 
carried  the  baby  to  Lingborough,  and  laid  it  in 
the  arms  of  Thomasina,  the  servant. 

Miss  Betty  had  sat  long  before  her  toilette- 
table  that  evening,  gazing  vacantly  at  the 
looking-glass.  Not  that  the  reflection  of  the 
eight  curl-papers  she  had  neatly  twisted  up  was 
conveyed  to  her  brain.  She  was  in  a  brown 
study,  during  which  the  following  thoughts 
passed  through  her  mind,  and  they  all  pointed 
one  way : 

^   That  that  fine  little  fellow  was  not  to  blame 
for  his  people's  misconduct. 

That  they  would  never  be  found. 

That  it  would  probably  be  the  means  of  the 
poor  child's  ruin,  body  and  soul,  if  they  were. 


CHILDREN    INCREASE    THE    CARES    OF    LIFE.       33 

'  That  the  master  of  the  neighboring  work- 
house bore  a  bad  character. 

That  a  child  costs  nothing  to  keep  —  where 
cows  are  kept  too  —  for  years. 

That  just  at  the  age  when  a  boy  begins  to  eat 
dreadfully  and  wear  out  his  clothes,  he  is  very 
useful  on  a  farm  (though  not  for  these  reasons). 

That  Thomasina  had  taken  to  him. 

That  there  need  be  no  nonsense  about  it,  as 
he  could  be  brought  up  in  his  proper  station  in 
life  in  the  kitchen  and  the  farm-yard. 

That  tramps  have  souls. 

That  he  would  be  taught  to  say  his 
prayers. 

Miss  Betty  said  hers,  and  went  to  bed ;  but 
all  through  that  midsummer  night  the  baby  kept 
her  awake,  or  flaunted  his  yellow  robe  and  crim- 
son toadstool  through  her  dreams. 

The  morning  brought  no  change  in  Miss 
Betty's  views,  but  she  felt  doubtful  as  to  how 
her  sister  would  receive  them.  Would  she  re- 
gard them  as  foolish  and  unpractical,  and  her 


34  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

respect  for  Miss  Betty's  opinion  be  lessened 
thenceforward  ? 

The  fear  was  needless.  Miss  Kitty  was  ro- 
mantic and  imaginative.  She  had  carried  the 
baby  through  his  boyhood  about  the  Ling- 
borough  fields  whilst  she  was  dressing ;  and  he 
was  attending  her  own  funeral  in  the  capacity 
of  an  attached  and  faithful  servant,  in  black  liv- 
ery with  worsted  frogs,  as  she  sprinkled  salt  on 
her  buttered  toast  at  breakfast,  when  she  was 
startled  from  this  affecting  day-dream  by  Miss 
Betty's  voice. 

"  Dear  sister  Kitty,  I  wish  to  consult  you  as 
to  our  plans  in  the  event  of  those  wicked 
people  who  deserted  the  baby  not  being 
found." 

The  little  ladies  resolved  that  not  an  inkling 
of  their  benevolent  scheme  must  be  betrayed  to 
the  lawyer.  But  they  dissembled  awkwardly,, 
and  the  tone  in  which  they  spoke  of  the  tramp- 
baby  roused  the  lawyer's  quick  suspicions.  He 
had  a  real  respect  for  the  little  ladies,  and  was 


BUT  MITIGATE  THE  REMEMBRANCE  OF  DEATH.    35 

kindly  anxious  to  save  them  from  their  own 
indiscretion. 

"  My  dear  ladies,"  said  he,  "  I  do  hope  your 
benevolence  —  may  I  say  your  romantic  benevo- 
lence .'* —  of  disposition  is  not  tempting  you  to 
adopt  this  gipsy  waif  ?" 

"  I  hope  we  know  what  is  due  to  ourselves,  and 
to  the  estate  —  small,  as  it  is  —  sir,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  "as  well  as  to  Providence,  too  well  to 
attempt  to  raise  any  child,  however  handsome, 
from  that  station  of  life  in  which  he  was  born." 

"  Bless  me,  madam  !  I  never  dreamed  you 
would  adopt  a  beggar  child  as  your  heir ;  but  I 
hope  you  mean  to  send  it  to  the  workhouse,  if 
the  gipsy  tramps  it  belongs  to  are  not  to  be 
found .? " 

"  We  have  not  made  up  our  minds,  sir,  as  to 
the  course  we  propose  to  pursue,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  with  outward  dignity  proportioned  to  her 
inward  doubts. 

"My  dear  ladies,"  said  the  lawyer  anxiously, 
"  let  me  implore  you  not  to  be  rash.     To  adopt 


36  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

a  child  in  the  most  favorable  circumstances  is 
the  greatest  of  risks.  But  if  your  benevolence 
zvill  take  that  line,  pray  adopt  some  little  boy 
out  of  one  of  your  tenants'  famiUes.  Even  your 
teaching  will  not  make  him  brilliant,  as  he  is 
likely  to  inherit  the  minimum  of  intellectual 
capacity ;  but  he  will  learn  his  catechism,  prob- 
ably grow  up  respectable,  and  possibly  grateful, 
since  his  forefathers  have  (so  Miss  Kitty  assures 
me)  had  all  these  virtues  for  generations.  But 
this  baby  is  the  child  of  a  heathen,  barbarous, 
and  wandering  race.  The  propensities  of  the 
vagabonds  who  have  deserted  him  are  in  every 
drop  of  his  blood.  All  the  parsons  in  the  dio- 
cese won't  make  a  Christian  of  him,  and  when 
(after  anxieties  I  shudder  to  foresee)  you  flatter 
yourselves  that  he  is  civilized,  he  will  run  away 
and  leave  his  shoes  and  stockings  behind  him." 

"He  has  a  soul  to  be  saved,  if  he  is  a 
gipsy,"  said  Miss  Kitty,  hysterically. 

"  The  soul,  my  dear  Miss  Kitty  "  —  began 
the  lawyer,  facing  round  upon  her. 


COUNSEL    IS    IRKSOME.  37 

"  Don't  say  anything  dreadful  about  the 
soul,  sir,  I  beg,"  said  Miss  Betty,  firmly. 
And  then  she  added  in  a  conciliatory  tone, 
"  Won't  you  look  at  the  little  fellow,  sir  ?  I 
have  no  doubt  his  relations  are  shockino- 
people  ;  but  when  you  see  his  innocent  little 
face  and  his  beautiful  eyes,  I  think  you'll  say 
yourself  that  if  he  were  a  duke's  son  he 
couldn't  be  a  finer  child." 

"  My  experience  of  babies  is  so  limited. 
Miss  Betty,"  said  the  lawyer,  **  that  really  — 
if  you'll  excuse  me  —  but  I  can  quite  imagine 
him.  I  have  before  now  been  tempted  myself 
to  adopt  stray  —  puppies,  when  I  have  seen 
them  in  the  round,  soft,  innocent,  bright-eyed 
stage.  And  when  they  have  grown  up  in  the 
hands  of  more  credulous  friends  into  lanky, 
ill-conditioned,  misconducted  curs,  I  have  con- 
gratulated myself  that  I  was  not  misled  by 
the  graces  of  an  age  at  which  ill-breeding  is 
less  apparent  than  later  in  life." 

The   little   ladies   both   rose.      "  If  you   see 


38  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

no  difference,  sir,"  said  Miss  Betty  in  her 
stateliest  manner,  "  between  a  babe  with  an 
immortal  soul  and  the  beasts  that  perish,  it 
is  quite  useless  to  prolong  the  conversation." 

"  Reason  is  apt  to  be  useless  when  opposed 
to  the  generous  impulses  of  a  sex  so  full  of 
sentiment  as  yours,  madam,"  said  the  lawyer, 
rising  also.  "  Permit  me  to  take  a  long  fare- 
well, since  it  is  improbable  that  our  friendship 
will  resume  its  old  position  until  your  protege 
has  —  run  away." 

The  words  "  long  farewell  "  and  *'  old  friend- 
ship "  were  quite  sufficient  to  soften  wrath  in 
the  tender  hearts  of  the  little  ladies.  But  the 
lawyer  had  really  lost  his  temper,  and,  before 
Miss  Betty  had  decided  how  to  offer  the  olive 
branch  without  conceding  her  principles  he 
was  gone. 

The  weather  was  warm.  The  little  ladies 
were  heated  by  discussion  and  the  parson  by 
vain  scouring  of  the  country  on  foot,  when 
they  asked  his  advice  upon  their   project,  and 


WHEN  THE  MATTER  IS  PAST  REMEDY. 


39 


related  their  conversation  with  the  lawyer. 
The  two  gentlemen  had  so  little  in  common 
that  the  parson  felt  it  his  duty  not  to  let  his 
advice  be  prejudiced  by  this  fact.  For  some 
moments  he  sat  silent,  then  he  began  to  walk 


^>^>^- 


about  as  if  he  were  composing  a  sermon ; 
then  he  stopped  before  the  little  ladies  (who 
were  sitting  as  stiffly  on  the  sofa  as  if  it  were 
a  pew)  and  spoke  as  if  he  were  delivering  one. 


40  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE 

**  If  you  ask  me,  dear  ladies,  whether  it  is 
your  duty  to  provide  for  this  child  because 
you  found  him,  I  say  that  there  is  no  such 
obligation.  If  you  ask  if  I  think  it  wise  in 
your  own  interests,  and  hopeful  as  to  the  boy's 
career,  I  am  obliged  to  agree  with  your  legal 
adviser.  Vagabond  ways  are  seldom  cured  in 
one  generation,  and  I  think  it  is  quite  prob- 
able that,  after  much  trouble  and  anxiety 
spent  upon  him,  he  may  go  back  to  a  wander- 
ing life.  But,  Miss  Betty,"  continued  the 
parson  in  deepening  tones,  as  he  pounded 
his  left  palm  with  his  right  fist  for  want  of  a 
pulpit,  "  If  you  ask  me  whether  I  believe  any 
child  of  any  race  is  born  incapable  of  improve- 
ment, and  beyond  benefit  from  the  charities 
we  owe  to  each  other,  I  should  deny  my  faith 
if  I  could  say  yes.  I  shall  not,  madam,  con- 
fuse the  end  of  your  connection  with  him 
with  the  end  of  your  training  in  him,  even  if 
he  runs  away,  or  fancy  that  I  see  the  one 
because   I   see   the    other.      I   do   not    pretend 


TRAILING  CLOUDS  OF  GLORY  DO  WE  COME.   4I 

to  know  how  much  evil  he  inherits  from 
his  forefathers  as  accurately  as  our  graphic 
friend ;  but  I  do  know  that  he  has  a  Father 
Whose  image  is  also  to  be  found  in  His 
children  —  not  quite  effaced  in  any  of  them  — 
and  Whose  care  of  this  one  will  last  when 
yours,  madam,  may  seem  to  have  been  in 
vain." 

As  the  little  ladies  rushed  forward  and  each 
shook  a  hand  of  the  parson,  he  felt  some 
compunction  for  his  speech. 

'*  I  fear  I  am  encouraging  you  in  grave 
indiscretion,"  said  he.  "  But,  indeed,  my  dear 
ladies,  I  am  quite  against  your  project,  for 
you  do  not  realize  the  anxieties  and  disap- 
pointments that  are  before  you,  I  am  sure. 
The  child  will  give  you  infinite  trouble.  I 
think  he  will  run  away.  And  yet  I  cannot 
in  good  conscience  say  that  I  believe  love's 
labor  must  be  lost.  He  may  return  to  the 
woods  and  wilds ;  but  I  hope  he  will  carry 
something  with  him." 


42  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

"  Did  the  reverend  gentleman  mean  Miss 
Betty's  teaspoons  ? "  asked  the  lawyer,  strok- 
ing his  long  chin,  when  he  was  told  what  the 
parson  had  said. 


FROM    GOD,    WHO    IS    OUR   HOME.  43 


BABYHOOD.  —  PRETTY    FLOWERS.  —  THE 
ROSE-COLORED   TULIPS. 

The  matter  of  the  baby's 
cap  disturbed  the  little  ladies. 
It  seemed  so  like  the  begin- 
ning of  a  fulfilment  of  the 
lawyer's  croakings. 

Miss  Kitty  had  made  it. 
She  had  never  seen  a  baby 
without  a  cap  before,  and  the  sight  was  unusual, 
if  not  indecent.  But  Miss  Kitty  was  a  quick 
needle-woman,  and  when  the  new  cap  was  fairly 
tied  over  the  thick  crop  of  silky  black  hair, 
the  baby  looked  so  much  less  like  Puck,  and 
so  much  more  like  the  rest  of  the  baby  world, 
that  it  was  quite  a  relief. 

Miss     Kitty's    feelings     may    therefore     be 
imagined  when,   going  to  the  baby  just  after 


44  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

the  parson's  departure,  she  found  him  in  open 
rebellion  against  his  cap.  It  had  been  tied 
on  whilst  he  was  asleep,  and  his  eyes  were 
no  sooner  opened  than  he  commenced  the 
attack.  He  pulled  with  one  little  brown  hand 
and  tugged  with  the  other ;  he  dragged  a 
rosette  over  his  nose  and  got  the  frills  into 
his  eyes  ;  he  worried  it  as  a  puppy  worries 
your  handkerchief  if  you  tie  it  round  its  face 
and  tell  it  to  "look  like  a  grandmother."  At 
last  the  strings  gave  way,  and  he  cast  it  tri- 
umphantly out  of  the  clothes-basket  which 
served  him  for  cradle. 

Successive  efforts  to  induce  him  to  wear  it 
proved  vain,  so  Thomasina  said  the  weather 
was  warm  and  his  hair  was  very  thick,  and  she 
parted  this  and  brushed  it,  and  Miss  Kitty  gave 
the  cap  to  the  farm  bailiff's  baby,  who  took  to  it 
as  kindly  as  a  dumpling  to  a  pudding-cloth. 

How  the  boy  was  ever  kept  inside  his  christ- 
ening clothes,  Thomasina  said  she  did  not 
know.     But  when  he  got  into  the  parson's  arms 


DELIGHT    AND    LIBERTY.  45 

he  lay  quite  quiet,  which  was  a  good  omen. 
That  he  might  lack  no  advantage,  Miss  Betty- 
stood  godmother  for  him,  and  the  parish  clerk 
and  the  sexton  were  his  godfathers. 

He  was  named  John. 

"A  plain,  sensible  name,"  said  Miss  Betty. 
"And  while  we  are  about  it,"  she  added,  "we 
may  as  well  choose  his  surname.  For  a  sur- 
name he  must  have,  and  the  sooner  it  is  decided 
upon  the  better." 

Miss  Kitty  had  made  a  list  of  twenty- 
seven  of  her  favorite  Christian  names,  which 
Miss  Betty  had  sternly  rejected,  that  every- 
thing might  be  plain,  practical,  and  respectable 
at  the  outset  of  the  tramp  child's  career.  For 
the  same  reason  she  refused  to  adopt  Miss 
Kitty's  suggestions  for  a  surname. 

"  It's  so  seldom  there's  a  chance  of  choosing  a 
surname  for  anybody,  sister,"  said  Miss  Kitty, 
"  it  seems  a  pity  not  to  choose  a  pretty  one." 

"  Sister  Kitty,"  •  said  Miss  Betty,  "  don't  be 
romantic.     The  boy  is  to  be  brought  up  in  that 


46  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

station  of  life  for  which  one  syllable  is  ample. 
I  should  have  called  him  Smith  if  that  had  not 
been  Thomasina's  name.  As  it  is,  I  propose  to 
call  him  Broom.  He  was  found  under  a  bush 
of  broom,  and  it  goes  very  well  with  John,  and 
sounds  plain  and  respectable." 

So  Miss  Betty  bought  a  Bible,  and  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  it  she  wrote  in  her  fine,  round,  gentle- 
woman's writing  —  ''John  Broom.  With  good 
zvishes  for  his  welfare^  temporal  and  eternal. 
From  a  sincere  friend.''  And  when  the  inscrip- 
tion was  dry  the  Bible  was  wrapped  in  brown 
paper,  and  put  by  in  Thomasina's  trunk  till 
John  Broom  should  come  to  years  of  discretion. 

He  was  slow  to  reach  them,  though  in  other 
respects  he  grew  fast. 

When  he  began  to  walk  he  would  walk  bare- 
foot. To  be  out  of  doors  was  his  delight,  but 
on  the  threshold  of  the  house  he  always  sat 
down  and  discarded  his  shoes  and  stockings. 
Thomasina  bastinadoed  the  soles  of  his  feet  with 
the  soles  of  his  shoes  "  to  teach  him  the  use  of 


THE    SIMPLE    CREED    OF    CHILDHOOD.  4/ 

them,"  so  she  said.  But  Miss  Kitty  sighed, 
and  thought  of  the  lawyer's  prediction. 

There  was  no  blinking  the  fact  that  the  child 
was  as  troublesome  as  he  was  pretty.  The  very 
demon  of  mischief  danced  in  his  black  eyes,  and 
seemed  to  possess  his  feet  and  fingers  as  if  with 
quicksilver.  And  if,  as  Thomasina  said,  you 
**  never  knew  what  he  would  be  at  next," 
you  might  also  be  pretty  sure  that  it  would  be 
something  he  ought  to  have  left  undone. 

John  Broom  early  developed  a  taste  for  glass 
and  crockery,  and  as  the  china  cupboard  was  in 
that  part  of  the  house  to  which  he  by  social 
standing  also  belonged,  he  had  many  chances  to 
seize  upon  cups,  jugs,  and  dishes.  If  detected 
with  anything  that  he  ought  not  to  have  had,  it 
was  his  custom  to  drop  the  forbidden  toy  and 
toddle  off  as  fast  as  his  unpractised  feet  would 
carry  him.  The  havoc  which  this  caused 
amongst  the  glass  and  china  was  bewildering  in 
a  household  where  tea-sets  and  dinner-sets  had 
passed   from   generation  to  generation,    where 


48  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

slapdash,  giddy-pated  kitchenmaids  never  came, 
where  Miss  Betty  washed  the  best  teacups  in 
the  parlor,  where  Thomasina  was  more  care- 
ful than  her  mistress,  and  the  breaking  of  a 
single  plate  was  a  serious  matter,  and,  if  beyond 
riveting,  a  misfortune. 

Thomasina  soon  found  that  her  charge  was 
safest,  as  he  was  happiest,  out  of  doors.  A 
very  successful  device  was  to  shut  him  up  in 
the  drying  ground,  and  tell  him  to  "pick  the 
pretty  flowers."  John  Broom  preferred  flowers 
even  to  china  cups  with  gilding  on  them.  He 
gathered  nosegays  of  daisies  and  buttercups, 
and  the  winning  way  in  which  he  would  present 
these  to  the  little  ladies  atoned,  in  their  benev- 
olent eyes,  for  many  a  smashed  teacup. 

But  the  tramp-baby's  restless  spirit  was  soon 
weary  of  the  drying-ground,  and  he  set  forth 
one  morning  in  search  of  ''fresh  woods  and 
pastures  new."  He  had  seated  himself  on  the 
threshold  to  take  off  his  shoes,  when  he  heard 
the  sound  of  Thomasina's  footsteps,  and,  hastily 


LIKE    TUMBLED    FRUIT    IN    GRASS. 


49 


staggering   to   his  feet,  toddled   forth   without 
farther  delay.      The  sky  was  blue  above  him, 


the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  air  was  very  sweet. 
He  ran  for  a  bit  and  then  tumbled,  and  picked 


50  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

himself  up  again,  and  got  a  fresh  impetus,  and 
so  on  till  he  reached  the  door  of  the  kitchen- 
garden,  which  was  open.  It  was  an  old-fash- 
ioned kitchen-garden  with  flowers  in  the  bor- 
ders. There  were  single  rose-colored  tulips, 
which  had  been  in  the  garden  as  long  as  Miss 
Betty  could  remember,  and  they  had  been  so 
increased  by  dividing  the  clumps  that  they  now 
stretched  in  two  rich  lines  of  color  down  both 
sides  of  the  long  wall.  And  John  Broom  saw 
them. 

"Pick  the  pretty  f'owers,  love,"  said  he,  in 
imitation  of  Thomasina's  patronizing  tone,  and 
forthwith  beginning  at  the  end,  he  went  steadily 
to  the  top  of  the  right-hand  border,  mowing  the 
rose-colored  tulips  as  he  went. 

Meanwhile,  when  Thomasina  came  to  look 
for  him  he  could  not  be  found,  and  when  all 
the  back  premises  and  the  drying-ground  had 
been  searched  in  vain,  she  gave  the  alarm  to 
the  little  ladies. 

Miss  Kitty's  vivid  imagination  leaped  at  once 


ROSE-COLORED    TULIPS. 


51 


to  the  conclusion  that  the  child's  vagabond  re- 
lations had  fetched  him  away,  and  she  became 
rigid  with  alarm.  But  Miss  Betty  rushed  out 
into  the  shrubbery,  and  Miss  Kitty  took  a  whiff 
of  her  vinaigrette  and  followed  her. 


^^Ki 


When  they  came  at  last  to  the  kitchen- 
garden,  Miss  Betty's  grief  for  the  loss  of  John 
Broom  did  not  prevent  her  observing  that 
there  was  something  odd  about  the  borders,  and 


52  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

when  she  got  to  the  top,  and  found  that  all  the 
tulips  had  been  picked  from  one  side,  she  sank 
down  on  the  roller  which  happened  to  be  lying 
beside  her. 

And  John  Broom  staggered  up  to  her,  and 
crying,  ''For  'oo,  Miss  Betty,"  fell  headlong 
with  a  sheaf  of  rose-colored  tulips  into  her  lap. 

As  he  did  not  offer  any  to  Miss  Kitty,  her 
better  judgment  was  not  warped,  and  she  said, 
"You  must  slap  him,  sister  Betty." 

"  Put  out  your  hand,  John  Broom,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  much  agitated. 

And  John  Broom,  who  was  quite  composed, 
put  out  both  his  little  grubby  paws  so  trustfully 
that  Miss  Betty  had  not  the  heart  to  strike  him. 
But  she  scolded  him,  "  Naughty  boy  !  "  and  she 
pointed  to  the  tulips  and  shook  her  head.  John 
Broom  looked  thoughtfully  at  them,  and  shook 
his. 

"  Naughty  boy ! "  repeated  Miss  Betty,  and 
she  added  in  very  impressive  tones,  "John 
Broom's  a  very  naughty  boy  ! " 


A    SUNSHINY    WORLD.  53 

After  which  she  took  him  to  Thomasina,  and 
Miss  Kitty  collected  the  rose-colored  tulips  and 
put  them  into  water  in  the  best  old  china  punch- 
bowl. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  she  peeped 
into  the  kitchen,  where  John  Broom  sat  on  the 
floor,  under  the  window,  gazing  thoughtfully  up 
into  the  sky. 

"As  good  as  gold,  bless  his  little  heart!" 
murmured  Miss  Kitty.  For  as  his  feet  were 
tucked  under  him,  she  did  not  know  that  he  had 
just  put  his  shoes  and  stockings  into  the  pig- 
tub,  into  which  he  all  but  fell  himself  from  the 
exertion.  He  did  not  hear  Miss  Kitty,  and 
thought  on.  He  wanted  to  be  out  again,  and  he 
had  a  tantalizing  remembrance  of  the  ease  with 
which  the  tender  juicy  stalks  of  the  tulips  went 
snap,  snap,  in  that  new  place  of  amusement  he 
had  discovered.  Thomasina  looked  into  the 
kitchen  and  went  away  again.  When  she  had 
gone,  John  Broom  went  away  also. 

He   went    both   faster   and   steadier   on   his 


54  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

bare  feet.  And  when  he  got  into  the  kitchen- 
garden,  it  recalled  Miss  Betty  to  his  mind. 
And  he  shook  his  head,  and  said,  ''  Naughty 
boy ! "  And  then  he  went  up  to  the  left-hand 
border,  mowing  the  tulips  as  he  went ;  after 
which  he  trotted  home,  and  met  Thomasina  at 
the  back  door.  And  he  hugged  the  sheaf  of 
rose-colored  tulips  in  his  arms,  and  said,  "John 
Broom  a  very  naughty  boy  !  " 

Thomasina  was  not  sentimental,  and  she 
slapped  him  well  —  his  hands  for  picking  the 
tulips,  and  his  feet  for  going  bare-foot. 

But  his  feet  had  to  be  slapped  with  Thomas- 
ina's  slipper,  for  his,  own  shoes  could  not  be 
found. 


CHILDREN    ARE    WHAT    THEY    ARE    MADE.       55 


EDUCATION.  —  FIRESIDE  TALES. 

In  spite  of  all  his  pranks,  John  Broom  did 
not  lose  the  favor  of  his  friends.  Thomasina 
spoiled  him,  and  Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty 
tried  not  to  do  so. 

The  parson  had  said,  "  Treat  the  child  fairly. 
Bring  him  up  as  he  will  have  to  live  hereafter. 
Don't  make  him  half  pet  and  half  servant." 
And  following  this  advice,  and  her  own  resolve 
that  there  should  be  "  no  nonsense "  in  the 
matter.  Miss  Betty  had  made  it  a  rule  that 
he  should  not  be  admitted  to  the  parlor.  It 
bore  more  heavily  on  the  tender  hearts  of  the 
little  ladies  than  on  the  light  heart  of  John 
Broom,  and  led  to  their  waylaying  him  in  the 
passages  and  gardens  with  little  gifts,  unknown 
to  each  other.  And  when  Miss  Kitty  kissed 
his  newly-washed  cheeks,  and  pronounced  them 
"like  ripe  russets,"  Miss  Betty  murmured,  "Be 


$6  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

judicious,  sister  Kitty";  and  Miss  Kitty  would 
correct  any  possible  ill  effects  by  saying,  "  Now 
make  your  bow  to  your  betters,  John  Broom, 
and  say,  'Thank  you,  ma'am!'"  which  was 
accomplished  by  the  child's  giving  a  tug  to 
the  forelock  of  his  thick  black  hair,  with  a 
world  of  mischief  in  his  eyes. 

When  he  was  old  enough,  the  little  ladies 
sent  him  to  the  village  school. 

The  total  failure  of  their  hopes  for  his  edu- 
cation was  not  the  smallest  of  the  disappoint- 
ments Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  endured  on 
his  behalf.  The  quarrel  with  the  lawyer  had 
been  made  up  long  ago,  and  though  there  was 
always  a  touch  of  raillery  in  his  inquiries  after 
"the  young  gipsy,"  he  had  once  said,  "If  he 
turns  out  anything  of  a  genius  at  school,  I 
might  find  a  place  for  him  in  the  office,  by- 
and-by."  The  lawyer  was  kind-hearted  in  his 
own  fashion,  and  on  this  hint  Miss  Kitty  built 
up  hopes,  which  unhappily  were  met  by  no 
responsive  ambition  in  John  Broom. 


IT    IS    ALWAYS    HOLIDAY    TIME    WITH    IDLERS.    5/ 

As  to  his  fitness  to  be  an  errand  boy,  he 
could  not  carry  a  message  from  the  kitchen 
to  the  cowhouse  without  stopping  by  the  way 
to  play  with  the  yard-dog,  and  a  hedgehog  in 
the  path  would  probably  have  led  him  astray, 
if  Thomasina  had  had  a  fit  and  he  had  been 
despatched  for  the  doctor. 

During  school  hours  he  spent  most  of  his 
time  under  the  fool's-cap  when  he  was  not 
playing  truant.  With  his  schoolmates  he  was 
good  friends.  If  he  was  seldom  out  of  mis- 
chief, he  was  seldom  out  of  temper.  He  could 
beat  any  boy  at  a  foot  race  (without  shoes)  ; 
he  knew  the  notes  and  nests  of  every  bird 
that  sang,  and  whatever  an  old  pocket-knife 
is  capable  of,  that  John  Broom  could  and  would 
do  with  it  for  his  fellows. 

Miss  Betty  had  herself  tried  to  teach  him 
to  read,  and  she  continued  to  be  responsible 
for  his  religious  instruction.  She  had  hoped 
to  stir  up  his  industry  by  showing  him  the 
Bible,  and  promising  that  when  he  could  read 


58  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

it  he  should  have  it  for  his  "very  own."  But 
he  either  could  not  or  would  not  apply  him- 
self, so  the  prize  lay  unearned  in  Thomasina's 
trunk.  But  he  would  listen  for  any  length 
of  time  to  Scripture  stories,  if  they  were  read 
or  told  to  him,  especially  to  the  history  of 
Elisha,  and  the  adventures  of  the  Judges. 

Indeed,  since  he  could  no  longer  be  shut 
up  in  the  drying-ground,  Thomasina  had  found 
that  he  was  never  so  happy  and  so  safe  as 
when  he  was  listening  to  tales,  and  many  a 
long  winter  evening  he  lay  idle  on  the  kitchen 
hearth,  with  his  head  on  the  sheep  dog,  whilst 
the  more  industrious  Thomasina  plied  her  knit- 
ting-needles, as  she  sat  in  the  ingle-nook,  with 
the  flickering  firelight  playing  among  the  plaits 
of  her  large  cap,  and  tojd  tales  of  the  country  side. 

Not  that  John  Broom  was  her  only  hearer. 
Annie  ''the  lass"  sat  by  the  hearth  also,  and 
Thomasina  took  care  that  she  did  not  ''  sit 
with  her  hands  before  her."  And  a  httle  far- 
ther away  sat  the  cowherd. 


SPRITES    AND    GOBLINS.  59 

He  had  a  sleeping-room  above  the  barn,  and 
took  his  meals  in  the  house.  By  Miss  Betty's 
desire  he  always  went  into  family  prayers  after 
supper,  when  he  sat  as  close  as  possible  to  the 
door,  under  an  uncomfortable  consciousness 
that  Thomasina  did  not  think  his  boots  clean 
enough  for  the  occasion,  and  would  find  some- 
thing to  pick  off  the  carpet  as  she  followed  him 
out,  however  hardly  he  might  have  used  the 
door-scraper  beforehand. 

It  might  be  a  difficult  matter  to  decide  which 
he  liked  best,  beer  or  John  Broom.  But  next 
to  these  he  liked  Thomasina's  stories. 

Thomasina  was  kind  to  him.  With  all  his 
failings  and  the  dirt  on  his  boots,  she  liked  him 
better  than  the  farm-bailiff.  The  farm-bailiff 
was  thrifty  and  sensible  and  faithful,  and 
Thomasina  was  faithful  and  sensible  and 
thrifty,  and  they  each  had  a  tendency  to  claim 
the  monopoly  of  those  virtues.  Notable  people 
complain,  very  properly,  of  thriftless  and  untidy 
ones,    but   they  sometimes   agree    better  with 


60  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

them  than  with  rival  notabilities.  And  so 
Thomasina's  broad  face  beamed  benevolently 
as  she  bid  the  cowherd  "  draw  up  "  to  the  fire, 
and  he  who  (like  Thomasina)  was  a  native  of 
the  country,  would  confirm  the  marvels  she 
related,  with  a  proper  pride  in  the  wonderful 
district  to  which  they  both  belonged. 

He  would  help  her  out  sometimes  with  names 
and  dates  in  a  local  biography.  By  his  own 
account  he  knew  the  man  who  was  murdered 
at  the  inn  in  the  Black  Valley  so  intimately 
that  it  turned  Annie  the  lass  as  white  as  a 
dish-cloth  to  sit  beside  him.  If  Thomasina 
said  that  folk  were  yet  alive  who  had  seen  the 
little  green  men  dance  in  Dawborough  Croft, 
the  cowherd  would  smack  his  knees  and  cry, 
"  Scores  on  'em  !  "  And  when  she  whispered 
of  the  white  figure  which  stood  at  the  cross 
roads  after  midnight,  he  testified  to  having  seen 
it  himself  —  tall  beyond  mortal  height,  and 
pointing  four  ways  at  once.  He  had  a  legend 
of   his  own   too,  which   Thotnasina   sometimes 


THE    LUBBER    FIEND.  6l 

gave  him  the  chance  of  telling,  of  how  he  was 
followed  home  one  moonlight  night  by  a  black 
Something  as  big  as  a  young  calf,  which 
"wimmled  and  wammled"  around  him  till  he 
fell  senseless  into  the  ditch,  and  being  found 
there  by  the  farm-bailiff  on  his  return  from 
market,  was  unjustly  accused  of  the  vice  of 
intoxication. 

*'  Fault-finders  should  be  free  of  flaws," 
Thomasina  would  say  with  a  prim  chin.  She 
/lad  seen  the  farm-bailiff  himself  "the  worse" 
for  more  than  his  supper  beer. 

But  there  was  one  history  which  Thomasina 
was  always  loth  to  relate,  and  it  was  that  which 
both  John  Broom  and  the  cowherd  especially 
preferred  —  the  history  of  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire. 

Thomasina  had  a  feeling  (which  was  shared 
•by  Annie  the  lass)  that*  it  was  better  not  to  talk 
of  ''anything"  peculiar  to  the  house  in  which 
you  are  living.  One's  neighbors'  ghosts  and 
bogles  are  another  matter. 

But  to  John  Broom  and  the  cowherd  no  sub- 


62  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

ject  was  SO  interesting  as  that  of  the  Lubber- 
fiend.  The  cowherd  sighed  to  think  of  the 
good  old  times  when  a  man  might  sleep  on  in 
spite  of  cocks,  and  the  stables  be  cleaner,  and 
the  beasts  better  tended  than  if  he  had  been  up 
with  the  lark.  And  John  Broom's  curiosity 
was  never  quenched  about  the  rough,  hairy 
Good-fellow  who  worked  at  night  that  others 
might  be  idle  by  day,  and  who  was  sometimes 
caught  at  his  hard-earned  nap,  lying,  "like  a 
great  hurgin  bear,"  where,  the  boy  loved  to 
lie  himself,  before  the  fire,  on  this  very  hearth. 

Why  and  where  he  had  gone,  Thomasina 
could  not  tell.  She  had  heard  that  he  had 
originally  come  from  some  other  household, 
where  he  had  been  offended.  But  whether  he 
had  gone  elsewhere  when  he  forsook  Ling- 
borough,  or  whether  "  such  things  had  left  the 
country  "  for  good,  she  did  not  pretend  to  say. 

And  when  she  had  told,  for  the  third  or  fourth 
time,  how  his  porridge  was  put  into  a  corner  of 
th^cowhouse  for  him  overnight,  and  how  he  had 


THE    FARM-BAILIFF.  63 

been  often  overheard  at  his  work,  but  rarely 
seen,  a^d  then  only  lying  before  the  fire.  Miss 
Betty  would  ring  for  prayers,  and  Thomasina 
would  fold  up  her  knitting  and  lead  the  way, 
followed  by  Annie  the  lass,  whose  nerves  John 
Broom  would  startle  by  treading  on  her  heels, 
the  rear  being  brought  up  by  the  cowherd,  look- 
ing hopelessly  at  his  boots. 

Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  did  really  deny 
themselves  the  indulgence  of  being  indulgent, 
and  treated  John  Broom  on  principles,  and  for 
his  good.  But  they  did  so  in  their  own  tremu- 
lous and  spasmodic  way,  and  got  little  credit  for 
it.  Thomasina,  on  the  other  hand,  spoiled  him 
with  such  a  masterful  managing  air,  and  so  much 
sensible  talk,  that  no  one  would  have  thought 
that  the  only  system  she  followed  was  to  con- 
ceal his  misdemeanors,  and  to  stand  between 
him  and  the  just  wrath  of  the  farm -bailiff. 

The  farm-bailiff,  or  grieve,  as  he  liked  to  call 
himself,  was  a  Scotchman,  with  a  hard-featured 
face  (which  he  washed  on  the  Sabbath),  a  harsh 


64  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

voice,  a  good  heart  rather  deeper  down  in  his 
body  than  is  usual,  and  a  shrewd,  money-'getting 
head,  with  a  speckled  straw  hat  on  the  top  of  it. 
No  one  could  venture  to  imagine  when  that  hat 
was  new,  or  how  long  ago  it  was  that  the  farm- 
bailiff  went  to  the  expense  of  purchasing  those 
work-day  clothes.  But  the  dirt  on  his  face  and 
neck  was  an  orderly  accumulation,  such  as 
gathers  on  walls,  oil-paintings,  and  other  places 
to  which  soap  is  not  habitually  applied  ;  it  was 
not  a  matter  of  spills  and  splashes,  like  the  dirt 
John  Broom  disgraced  himself  with.  And  his 
clothes,  if  old,  fitted  neatly  about  him ;  they 
never  suggested  raggedness,  which  was  the  nor- 
mal condition  of  the  tramp-boy's  jackets.  They 
only  looked  as  if  he  had  been  born  (and  occa- 
sionally buried)  in  them.  It  is  needful  to  make 
this  distinction,  that  the  good  man  may  not  be 
accused  of  inconsistency  in  the  peculiar  vexation 
which  John  Broom's  disorderly  appearance 
caused  him. 

In  truth.  Miss  Betty's  proUg^  had  reached  the 


LIFE    IS    NOT    ONLY    PLAY.  6$ 

age  at  which  he  was  to  *'eat  dreadfully,  wear 
out  his  clothes,  and  be  useful  on  the  farm  ;  "  and 
the  last  condition  was  quite  unfulfilled.  At 
eleven  years  old  he  could  not  be  trusted  to 
scare  birds,  and  at  half  that  age  the  farm-bailiff's 
eldest  child  could  drive  cattle. 

*'And  no'  just  ruin  the  leddies  in  new  coats 
and  compliments,  either,  like  some  ne'er-do- 
weels,"  added  the  farm-bailiff,  who  had  heard 
with  a  jealous  ear  of  sixpences  given  by  Miss 
Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  to  their  wasteful  favorite. 

When  the  eleventh  anniversary  of  John 
Broom's  discovery  was  passed,  and  his  character 
at  school  gave  no  hopes  of  his  ever  qualifying 
himself  to  serve  the  lawyer,  it  was  resolved  that 
—  ''idleness  being  the  mother  of  mischief,"  he 
should  be  put  under  the  care  of  the  farm-bailiff, 
to  do  such  odd  jobs  about  the  place  as  might  be 
suited  to  his  capacity  and  love  of  outdoor  life. 
And  now  John  Broom's  troubles  began.  By 
fair  means  or  foul,  with  here  an  hour's  weeding 
and  there  a  day's  bird  scaring,  and  with  errands 


66  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

perpetual,  the  farm-bailiff  contrived  to  "get 
some  work  out  of"  the  idle  little  urchin.  His 
speckled  hat  and  grim  face  seemed  to  be  every- 
where, and  always  to  pop  up  when  John  Broom 
began  to  play. 

They  lived  "at  daggers  drawn."  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  John  Broom's  fitful  industry  was  still 
kept  for  his  own  fancies.  To  climb  trees,  to 
run  races  with  the  sheep  dog,  to  cut  grotesque 
sticks,  gather  hedge  fruits,  explore  a  bog,  or 
make  new  friends  among  beasts  and  birds  —  at 
such  matters  he  would  labor  with  feverish  zeal. 
But  so  far  from  trying  to  cure  himself  of  his 
indolence  about  daily  drudgery,  he  found  a  new 
and  pleasant  excitement  in  thwarting  the  farm- 
bailiff  at  every  turn. 

It  would  not  sound  dignified  to  say  that  the 
farm-bailiff  took  pleasure  in  thwarting  John 
Broom.  But  he  certainly  did  not  show  his 
satisfaction  when  the  boy  did  do  his  work 
properly.  Perhaps  he  thought  that  praise  is 
not  good  for  young  people ;  and  the  child  did 


THE    WORLD    IS    NOT    OUR    HOLIDAY. 


67 


not  often  give  him  the  chance  of  trying.  Of 
blame  he  was  free  enough.  Not  a  good  scold- 
ing to  clear  the  air,  such  as  Thomasina  would 


^^v 


give  to  Annie  the  lass,  but  his  slow,  caustic 
tongue  was  always  growling,  like  muttered 
thunder,  over  John  Broom's  incorrigible  head. 


68  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

He  had  never  approved  of  the  tramp-child, 
who  had  the  overwhelming  drawbacks  of  hav- 
ing no  pedigree  and  of  being  a  bad  bargain  as 
to  expense.  This  was  not  altogether  John 
Broom's  fault,  but  with  his  personal  failings 
the  farm-bailiff  had  even  less  sympathy.  It 
had  been  hinted  that  he  was  born  in  the  speck- 
led hat,  and  whether  this  were  so  or  not, 
he  certainly  had  worn  an  old  head  whilst  his 
shoulders  were  still  young,  and  could  not 
remember  the  time  when  he  wished  to  waste 
his  energies  on  anything  that  did  not  earn  or 
at  least  save  something. 

Once  only  did  anything  like  approval  of  the 
lad  escape  his  lips. 

Miss  Betty's  uncle's  second  cousin  had  re- 
turned from  foreign  lands  with  a  good  fortune 
and  several  white  cockatoos.  He  kept  the 
fortune  himself,  but  he  gave  the  cockatoos  to 
his  friends,  and  he  sent  one  of  them  to  the 
little  ladies  of  Lingborough. 

He  was  a  lovely  creature  (the  cockatoo,  not 


GLITTERING    EYES.  69 

the  cousin,  who  was  plain),  and  John  Broom's 
admiration  of  him  was  boundless.  He  gazed 
at  the  sulphur-colored  crest,  the  pure  white 
wings  with  their  deeper-tinted  lining,  and  even 
the  beak  and  the  fierce  round  eyes,  as  he  had 
gazed  at  the  broom-bush  in  his  babyhood,  with 
insatiable  delight. 

The  cousin  did  things  handsomely.  He  had 
had  a  ring  put  round  one  of  the  cockatoo's 
ankles,  with  a  bright  steel  chain  attached  and 
a  fastener  to  secure  it  to  the  perch.  The  cock- 
atoo was  sent  in  the  cage  by  coach,  and  a  perch, 
made  of  foreign  wood,  followed  by  the  carrier. 

Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  were  delighted 
both  with  the  cockatoo  and  the  perch,  but  they 
were  a  good  deal  troubled  as  to  how  to  fasten 
the  two  together.  There  was  a  neat  little  ring 
on  the  perch,  and  the  cockatoo's  chain  was 
quite  complete,  and  he  evidently  wanted  to  get 
out,  for  he  shook  the  walls  of  his  cage  in  his 
gambols.  But  he  put  up  his  crest  and  snapped 
when   any   one   approached,    in   a    manner    so 


70  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

alarming  that  Annie  the  lass  shut  herself  up 
in  the  dairy,  and  the  farm-bailiff  turned  his 
speckled  hat  in  his  hands,  and  gave  cautious 
counsel  from  a  safe  distance. 

"How  he  flaps!"  cried  Miss  Betty.  "I'm 
afraid  he  has  a  very  vicious  temper." 

"  He  only  wants  to  get  out.  Miss  Betty,"  said 
John  Broom.  "  He'd  be  all  right  with  his 
perch,  and  I  think  I  can  get  him  on  it." 

"  Now  Heaven  save  us  from  the  sin  o'  pre- 
sumption ! "  cried  the  farm-bailiff,  and  putting 
on  the  speckled  hat,  he  added,  slowly:  "I'm 
thinking,  John  Broom,  that  if  ye're  engaged  wi' 
the  leddies  this  morning  it'll  be  time  I  turned 
my  hand  to  singling  these  few  turnips  ye've 
been  thinking  about  the  week  past." 

On  which  he  departed,  and  John  Broom 
pressed  the  little  ladies  to  leave  him  alone  with 
the  bird. 

"  We  shouldn't  like  to  leave  you  alone  with  a 
wild  creature  like  that,"  said  Miss  Betty. 

"He's    just   frightened   on   ye,   Miss   Betty. 


GENERAL  NATURE  S  DEEP  DELIGHT.    /I 

He'll  be  like  a  lamb  when  you're  gone,"  urged 
John  Broom. 

"Besides,  we  should  like  to  see  you  do  it," 
said  Miss  Kitty. 

"You  can  look  in  through  the  window,  miss. 
I  must  fasten  the  door,  or  he'll  be  out." 

"I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  he  hurt 
you,  John,"  said  Miss  Betty,  irresolutely,  for 
she  was  very  anxious  to  have  the  cockatoo  and 
perch  in  full  glory  in  the  parlor. 

"  He'll  none  hurt  me,  miss,"  said  John,  with 
a  cheerful  smile  on  his  rosy  face.  "I  likes  him, 
and  he'll  like  me." 

This  settled  the  matter.  John  was  left  with 
the  cockatoo.  He  locked  the  door,  and  the 
little  ladies  went  into  the  garden  and  peeped 
through  the  window. 

They  saw  John  Broom  approach  the  cage,  on 
which  the  cockatoo  put  up  his  crest,  opened  his 
beak  slowly,  and  snarled,  and  Miss  Betty  tapped 
on  the  window  and  shook  her  black  satin  work- 
bag. 


^2  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

"Don't  go  near  him!"  she  cried.  But  John 
Broom  paid  no  attention. 

"What  are  you  putting  up  that  top-knot  of 
yours  at  me  for.?"  said  he  to  the  cockatoo. 
"  Don't  ye  know  your  own  friends .?  I'm 
going  to  let  ye  out,  I  am.  You're  going  on  to 
your  perch,  you  are." 

"Eh,  but  you're  a  bonny  creature!"  he 
added,  as  the  cockatoo  filled  the  cage  with  snow 
and  sulphur  fiutterings. 

"  Keep  away,  keep  away  1 "  screamed  the 
little  ladies,  playing  a  duet  on  the  window 
panes. 

"  Out  with  you!"  said  John  Broom,  as  he 
unfastened  the  cage  door. 

And  just  when  Miss  Betty  had  run  round, 
and  as  she  shouted  through  the  keyhole,  "  Open 
the  door,  John  Broom.  We've  changed  our 
minds.  We've  decided  to  keep  it  in  its  cage," 
the  cockatoo  strode  solemnly  forth  on  his  eight 
long  toes. 

"  Pretty  Cocky  !  "  said  he. 


CONTRADICTIONS. 


73 


When   Miss  Betty  got  back  to  the  window, 
John  Broom  had  just  made  an  injudicious  grab 


at  the  steel  chain,  on  which  Pretty  Cocky  flew 
fiercely  at  him,  and  John,  burying  his  face  in 


74  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

his  arms,  received  the  attack  on  his  thick  poll, 
laughing  into  his  sleeves  and  holding  fast  to  the 
chain,  whilst  the  cockatoo  and  the  little  ladies 
screamed  against  each  other. 

"  It'll  break  your  leg — you'll  tear  its  eyes 
out!"  cried  Miss  Kitty. 

*'  Miss  Kitty  means  that  you'll  break  its  leg, 
and  it  will  tear  your  eyes  out,"  Miss  Betty 
explained  through  the  glass.  "  John  Broom  ! 
Come  away  !     Lock  it  in  !     Let  it  go  !  " 

But  Cocky  was  now  waddling  solemnly  round 
the  room,  and  John  Broom  was  creeping  after 
him,  with  the  end  of  the  chain  in  one  hand,  and 
the  perch  in  the  other,  and  in  a  moment  more 
he  had  joined  the  chain  and  the  ring,  and  just 
as  Miss  Betty  was  about  to  send  for  the  con- 
stable and  have  the  door  broken  open.  Cocky 
—  driven  into  a  corner  —  clutched  his  perch 
and  was  raised  triumphantly  to  his  place  in  the 
bow-window. 

He  was  now  a  parlor  pet,  and  John  Broom 
saw  little  of  him.     This  vexed  him,  for  he  had 


CONQUERED !  75 

taken  a  passionate  liking  for  the  bird.  The 
little  ladies  rewarded  him  well  for  his  skill,  but 
this  brought  him  no  favor  from  the  farm-bailiff, 
and  matters  went  on  as  ill  as  before. 

One  .day  the  cockatoo  got  his  chain  en- 
tangled, and  Miss  Kitty  promptly  advanced  to 
put  it  right.  She  had  unfastened  that  end 
which  secured  it  to  the  perch,  when  Cocky, 
who  had  been  watching  the  proceedings  with 
much  interest,  dabbed  at  her  with  his  beak. 
Miss  Kitty  fled,  but  with  great  presence  of 
mind  shut  the  door  after  her.  She  forgot, 
however,  that  the  window  was  open,  in  front  of 
which  stood  the  cockatoo  scanning  the  summer 
sky  with  his  fierce  eyes,  and  flapping  himself  in 
the  breeze. 

And  just  as  the  little  ladies  ran  into  the 
garden,  and  Miss  Kitty  was  saying,  "One 
comfort  is,  sister  Betty,  that  it's  quite  safe  in 
the  room,  till  we  can  think  what  to  do  next," 
he  bowed  his  yellow  crest,  spread  his  noble 
wings,  and  sailed  out  into  the  aether. 


^6  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

In  ten  minutes  the  whole  able-bodied  popula- 
tion of  the  place  was  in  the  grounds  of  Ling- 
borough,  including  the  farm-bailiff. 

The  cockatoo  was  on  the  top  of  a  fir-tree, 
and  a  fragment  of  the  chain  was  with  him,  for 
he  had  broken  it,  and  below  on  the  lawn  stood 
the  little  ladies,  who,  with  the  unfailing  courage 
of  women  in  a  hopeless  cause,  were  trying  to 
dislodge  him  by  waving  their  pocket-handker- 
chiefs and  crying  "sh!" 

He  looked  composedly  down  out  of  one  eye 
for  some  time,  and  then  he  began  to  move. 

"I  think  it's  coming  down  now,"  said  Miss 
Kitty. 

But  in  a  quarter  of  a  minute.  Cocky  had 
sailed  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  was  rocking 
himself  on  the  top  of  an  old  willow-tree.  And 
at  this  moment  John  Broom  joined  the  crowd 
which  followed  him. 

"  I'm  thinking  he's  got  his  chain  fast,"  said 
the  farm-bailiff;  *'if  onybody  that  understood 
the  beastie  daured  to  get  near  him —  " 


ON    THE   TREE   TOP.  7/ 

"  I'll  get  him,"  said  John  Broom,  casting 
down  his  hat. 

"Ye'll  get  your  neck  thrawed,"  said  the  farm- 
bailiff. 

"  We  won't  hear  of  it,"  said  the  little  ladies. 

But  to  their  horror,  John  Broom  kicked  off  his 
shoes,  after  which  he  spat  upon  his  hands  (a 
shock  which  Miss  Kitty  thought  she  never 
could  have  survived),  and  away  he  went  up  the 
willow. 

It  was  not  an  easy  tree  to  climb,  and  he  had 
one  or  two  narrow  escapes,  which  kept  the  crowd 
breathless,  but  he  shook  the  hair  from  his  eyes, 
moistened  his  hands  afresh,  and  went  on.  The 
farm-bailiff's  far-away  heart  was  stirred.  No 
Scotchman  is  insensible  to  gallantry.  And 
courage  is  the  only  thing  a  ''  canny  "  Scot  can 
bear  to  see  expended  without  return. 

"John  Broom,"  screamed  Miss  Betty,  "come 
down !  I  order,  I  command  you  to  come 
down." 

The  farm-bailiff  drew  his   speckled   hat   for- 


yS  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, 

ward  to  shade  his  upward  gaze,  and  folded 
his  arms. 

"  Dinna  call  on  him,  leddies,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing more  quickly  than  usual.  ''  Dinna  mak 
him  turn  his  head.  Steady,  lad !  Grip  wi' 
your  feet.     Spit  on  your  pawms,  man." 

Once  the  boy  trod  on  a  rotten  branch,  and  as 
he  drew  back  his  foot,  and  it  came  crashing 
down,  the  farm-bailiff  set  his  teeth,  and  Miss 
Kitty  fainted  in  Thomasina's  arms. 

*'  I'll  reward  anyone  who'll  fetch  him  down," 
sobbed  Miss  Betty.  But  John  Broom  seated 
himself  on  the  same  branch  as  the  cockatoo, 
and  undid  the  chain  and  prepared  his  hands  for 
the  downward  journey. 

"  You've  got  a  rare  perch,  this  time,"  said  he. 
And  Pretty  Cocky  crept  towards  him,  and 
rubbed  its  head  against  him  and  chuckled  with 
joy. 

What  dreams  of  liberty  in  the  tree  tops,  with 
John  Broom  for  a  playfellow,  passed  through 
his  crested  head,  who  shall  say }     But  when  he 


'Steady,  ladl     Grip  \vi'  your  teet. 


COURAGE    MOUNTETH    WITH    OCCASION.        79 

found  that  his  friend  meant  to  take  him  pris- 
oner, he  became  very  angry  and  much  alarmed. 
And  when  John  Broom  grasped  him  by  both 
legs  and  began  to  descend,  Cocky  pecked 
him  vigorously.  But  the  boy  held  the  back 
of  his  head  towards  him,  and  went  steadily 
down. 

''  Weel  done !  "  roared  the  farm-bailiff. 
"  Gently,  lad  !  Gude  save  us !  ha'e  a  care  o' 
yoursen.  That's  weel.  Keep  your  pow  at  him. 
Dinna  let  the  beast  get  to  your  een." 

But  when  John  Broom  was  so  near  the 
ground  as  to  be  safe,  the  farm-bailiff  turned 
wrathfully  upon  his  son,  who  had  been  gazing 
open-mouthed  at  the  sight  which  had  so  inter- 
estjpd  his  father. 

"  Ye  look  weel  standing  gawping  here,  before 
the  leddies,"  said  he,  **  wasting  the  precious 
hours,  and  bringing  your  father's  gray  hairs  wi' 
sorrow  to  the  grave  ;  and  John  Broom  yonder 
shaming  ye,  and  you  not  so  much  as  thinking 
to  fetch  the  perch  for  him,  ye  lazy  loon.     Away 


80  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

wi'  ye  and  get  it,  before  I  lay  a  stick  about  your 
shoulders." 

And  when  his  son  had  gone  for  the  perch, 
and  John  Broom  was  safely  on  the  ground, 
laughing,  bleeding,  and  triumphant,  the  farm- 
bailiff  said,  — 

"Ye're  a  bauld  chiel,  John  Broom,  I'll  say 
that  for  ye." 


RATHER  BEAR  THOSE  ILLS  WE  HAVE.    8 


INTO   THE   MIST. 

Unfortunately  the  favorable  impression  pro- 
duced by  ''  the  gipsy  lad's  "  daring  soon  passed 
from  the  farm-bailiff's  mind.  It  was  partly 
effaced  by  the  old  jealousy  of  the  little  ladies' 
favor.  Miss  Betty  gave  the  boy  no  less  than 
four  silver  shillings,  and  he  ungraciously  refused 
to  let  the  farm-bailiff  place  them  in  a  savings 
bank  for  him. 

Matters  got  from  bad  to  worse.  The  farming 
man  was  not  the  only  one  who  was  jealous,  and 
John  Broom  himself  was  as  idle  and  restless  as 
ever.  Though,  if  he  had  listened  respectfully 
to  the  Scotchman's  counsels,  or  shown  any  dis- 
position to  look  up  to  and  be  guided  by  him, 
much  might  have  been  overlooked.  But  he 
made  fun  of  him  and  made  a  friend  of  the  cow- 
herd.    And  this  latter  most  manifest  token  of 


82  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

low  breeding  vexed  the  respectable  taste  of  the 
farm-bailiff. 

John  Broom  had  his  own  grievances  too,  and 
he  brooded  over  them.  He  thought  the  little 
ladies  had  given  him  over  to  the  farm-bailiff, 
because  they  had  ceased  to  care  for  him,  and 
that  the  farm-bailiff  was  prejudiced  against  him 
beyond  any  hope  of  propitiation.  The  village 
folk  taunted  him,  too,  with  being  an  outcast,  and 
called  him  Gipsy  John,  and  this  maddened  him. 
Then  he  would  creep  into  the  cowhouse  and 
lie  in  the  straw  against  the  white  cow's  warm 
back,  and  ^f or  a  few  of  Miss  Betty's  coppers,  to 
spend  in  beer  or  tobacco,  the  cowherd  would 
hide  him  from  the  farm-bailiff  and  tell  him 
countryside  tales.  To  Thomasina's  stories  of 
ghosts  and  gossips,  he  would  add  strange  tales 
of  smugglers  on  the  near-lying  coast,  and  as 
John  Broom  listened,  his  restless  blood  rebelled 
more  and  more  against  the  sour  sneers  and  dry 
drudgery  that  he  got  from  the  farm-bailiff. 

Nor  were  sneers  the  sharpest  punishment  his 


THAN    FLY    TO    OTHERS. 


83 


misdemeanors  earned.  The  farm-bailiff's  stick 
was  thick  and  his  arm  was  strong,  and  he  had 
a  tendency  to  beUeve  that  if  a  flogging  was 
good  for  a  boy,  the  more  he  had  of  it  the  better 
it  would  be  for  him. 


.-V 


And  John  Broom,  who  never  let  a  cry  escape 
him  at  the  time,  would  steal  away  afterwards 
and  sob  out  his  grief  into  the  long  soft  coat  of 
the  sympathizing  sheep  dog. 

Unfortunately  he  never  tried  the    effect   of 


84  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

deserving  better  treatment  as  a  remedy  for  his 
woes.  The  parson's  good  advice  and  Miss 
Betty's  entreaties  were  alike  in  vain.  He  was 
ungrateful  even  to  Thomasina.  The  little 
ladies  sighed  and  thought  of  the  lawyer.  And 
the  parson  preached  patience. 

"Cocky  has  been  tamed,"  said  Miss  Kitty, 
thoughtfully,  "perhaps  John  Broom  will  get 
steadier  by-and-by." 

"  It  seems  a  pity  we  can't  chain  him  to  a 
perch.  Miss  Kitty,"  laughed  the  parson;  "he 
would  be  safe  then,  at  any  rate." 

Miss  Betty  said  afterwards  that  it  did  seem 
so  remarkable  that  the  parson  should  have 
made  this  particular  joke  on  this  particular 
night  —  the  night  when  John  Broom  did  not 
come  home. 

He  had  played  truant  all  day.  The  farm- 
bailiff  had  wanted  him,  and  he  had  kept  out  of 
the  way. 

The  wind  was  from  the  east,  and  a  white 
mist  rolled  in  from  the  sea,  bringing  a  strange 


THE    INFINITE    MAIN.  85 

invigorating*  smell,  and  making  your  lips 
clammy  with  salt.  It  made  John  Broom's  heart 
beat  faster,  and  filled  his  head  with  dreams  of 
ships  and  smugglers,  and  rocking  masts  higher 
than  the  willow-tree,  and  winds  wilder  than  this 
wind,  and  dancing  waves. 

Then  something  loomed  through  the  fog.  It 
was  the  farm-bailiff's  speckled  hat.  John  Broom 
hesitated  —  the  thick  stick  became  visible. 

Then  a  cloud  rolled  between  them,  and  the 
child  turned,  and  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  coast- 
wards,  into  the  sea  mist. 


S6  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


THE  SEA.  — THE  ONE-EYED  SAILOR.  — THE 
OTHER   SIDE   OF   THE   WORLD. 

John  Broom  was  footsore  when  he  reached 
the  coast,  but  that  keen,  Hfe-giving  smell  had 
drawn  him  on  and  held  him  up.  The  fog  had 
cleared  off,  and  he  strained  his  black  eyes 
through  the  darkness  to  see  the  sea. 

He  had  never  seen  it  —  that  other  world 
within  this,'  on  which  one  lived  out  of  doors, 
and  climbed  about  all  day,  and  no  one  blamed 
him. 

When  he  did  see  it,  he  thought  he  had  got  to 
the  end  of  the  world.  If  the  edge  ojf  the  cliff 
were  not  the  end,  he  could  not  make  out  where 
the  sky  began  ;  and  if  that  darkness  were  the 
sea,  the  sea  was  full  of  stars. 

But  this  was  because  the  sea  was  quiet  and 
reflected  the  color  of  the  night  sky,  and  the 


THE    ONE-EYED    SAILOR.  8/ 

stars  were  the  lights  of  the  herring-boats  twink- 
ling in  the  bay. 

When  he  got  down  by  the  water  he  saw  the 
vessels  lying  alongside,  and  they  were  dirtier 
than  he  had  supposed.  But  he  did  not  lose 
heart,  and  remembering,  from  the  cowherd's 
tales,  that  people  who  cannot  pay  for  their  pas- 
sage must  either  work  it  out  or  hide  themselves 
on  board  ship,  he  took  the  easier  alternative, 
and  got  on  to  the  first  vessel  which  had  a  plank 
to  the  quay,  and  hid  himself  under  some  tar- 
paulin on  the  deck. 

The  vessel  was  a  collier  bound  for  London, 
and  she  sailed  with  the  morning  tide. 

When  he  was  found  out  he  was  not  ill-treated. 
Indeed,  the  rough  skipper  offered  to  take  him 
home  again  on  his  return  voyage.  He  would 
have  liked  to  go,  but  pride  withheld  him,  and 
homesickness  had  not  yet  eaten  into  his  very 
soul.  Then  an  old  sailor  with  one  eye  (but  that 
a  sly  one)  met  him,  and  told  him  tales  more 
wonderful  than  the  cowherd's.     And  with  him 


88  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

he  shipped  as  cabin-boy,  on  a  vessel  bound  for 
the  other  side  of  the  world. 

***** 

A  great  many  sins  bring  their  own  punish- 
ment in  this  life  pretty  clearly,  and  sometimes 
pretty  closely ;  but  few  more  directly  or  more 
bitterly  than  rebellion  against  the  duties,  and 
ingratitude  for  the  blessings  of  home. 

There  was  no  playing  truant  on  board  ship ; 
and  as  to  the  master  poor  John  Broom  served 
now,  his  cruelty  made  the  memory  of  the  farm- 
bailiff  a  memory  of  tenderness  and  gentleness 
and  indulgence.  Till  he  was  half-naked  and 
half-starved,  and  had  only  short  snatches  of 
sleep  in  hard  corners,  it  had  never  struck  him 
that  when  one  has  got  good  food  and  clothes, 
and  sound  sleep  in  a  kindly  home,  he  has  got 
more  than  many  people,  and  enough  to  be 
thankful  for. 

He  did  everything  he  was  told  now  as  fast  as 
he  could  do  it,  in  fear  for  his  life.  The  one- 
eyed  sailor  had  told  him  that  the  captain  always 


THE    ONE-EYED    SAILOR. 


89 


took  orphans  and  poor  friendless  lads  to  be  his 
cabin-boys,  and  John  Broom  thought  what  a 
nice  kind  man  he 
must  be,  and  how 
different  from  the 
farm -bail  iff,  who 
thought  nobody 
could  be  trust- 
worthy unless  he 
could  show  parents 
and  grand-parents, 
and  cousins  to  the 
sixth  degree.  But 
after  they  had 
sailed,  when  John 
Broom  felt  very 
ill,  and  asked  the 
one-eyed  sailor 
where  he  was  to 
sleep,  the  one-eyed 
sailor  pleasantly  replied  that  if  he  hadn't  brought 
a  four-post  bed  in  his  pocket  he  must  sleep  where 


90  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

he  could,  for  that  all  the  other  cabin-boys  were 
sleeping,  in  Davy's  Locker,  and  couldn't  be 
disturbed.  And  it  was  not  till  John  Broom  had 
learned  ship's  language  that  he  found  out  that 
Davy's  Locker  meant  the  deep,  and  that  the 
other  cabin-boys  were  dead.  ''And  as  they'd 
nobody  belonging  to  'em,  no  hearts  were 
broke,"  added  the  sailor,  winking  with  his  one 
eye. 

John  Broom  slept  standing  sometimes  for 
weariness,  but  he  did  not  sleep  in  Davy's 
Locker.  Young  a^  he  was  he  had  dauntless 
courage,  a  careless  hopeful  heart,  and  a  tough 
little  body  ;  and  that  strong,  life-giving  sea 
smell  bore  him  up  instead  of  food,  and  he  got  to 
the  other  side  of  the  world. 

Why  he  did  not  stay  there,  why  he  did  not 
run  away  into  the  wilderness  to  find  at  least 
some  easier  death  than  to  have  his  bones 
broken  by  the  cruel  captain,  he  often  wondered 
afterwards.  He  was  so  much  quicker  and 
braver  than  the  boys  they  commonly  got,  that 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  WORLD.      9I 

the  old  sailor  kept  a  sharp  watch  over  him  with 
his  one  eye  whilst  they  were  ashore ;  but  one 
day  he  was  too  drunk  to  see  out  of  it,  and  John 
Broom  ran  away. 

It  was  Christmas  Day,  and  so  hot  that  he 
could  not  run  far,  for  he  was  at  the  other  side 
of  the  world,  where  things  are  upside  down, 
and  he  sat  by  the  roadside  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  city ;  and  as  he  sat,  with  his  thin,  brown 
face  resting  on  his  hands,  a  familiar  voice 
beside  him  said,  "  Pretty  Cocky  !  "  and  looking 
up  he  saw  a  man  with  several  cages  of  birds. 
The  speaker  was  a  cockatoo  of  the  most 
exquisite  shades  of  cream-color,  salmon,  and 
rose,  and  he  had  a  rose-colored  crest.  But 
lovely  as  he  was,  John  Broom's  eyes  were  on 
another  cage,  where,  silent,  solemn,  and  sulky, 
sat  a  big  white  one  with  sulphur-colored  trim- 
mings and  fierce  black  eyes ;  and  he  was  so  like 
Miss  Betty's  pet,  that  the  poor  child's  heart 
bounded  as  if  a  hand  had  been  held  out  to  him 
from  home. 


92  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

*'  If  you  let  him  get  at  you,  you'll  not  do  it  a 
second  time,  mate,"  said  the  man.  "  He's  the 
nastiest  tempered  beast  I  ever  saw.  I'd  have 
wrung  his  neck  long  ago  if  he  hadn't  such  a  fine 
coat." 

But  John  Broom  said,  as  he  had  said  before, 
"I  like  him,  and  he'll  like  me." 

When  the  cockatoo  bit  his  finger  to  the  bone, 
the  man  roared  with  laughter,  but  John  Broom 
did  not  draw  his  hand  away.  He  kept  it  still 
at  the  bird's  beak,  and  with  the  other  he  gently 
scratched  him  under  the  crest  and  wings.  And 
when  the  white  cockatoo  began  to  stretch  out 
his  eight  long  toes,  as  cats  clutch  with  their 
claws  from  pleasure,  and  chuckled,  and  sighed, 
and  bit  softly  without  hurting,  and  laid  his  head 
against  the  bars  till  his  snow  and  sulphur 
feathers  touched  John  Broom's  black  locks,  the 
man  was  amazed. 

"Look  here,  mate,"  said  he,  "you've  the 
tri6k  with  birds  and  no  mistake.  I'll  sell  you 
this  one  cheap,  and  you'll  be  able  to  sell  him  dear." 


THERE  S    NO    PLACE    LIKE    HOME. 


93 


. "  I've  not  a  penny  in  the  world,"  said  John 
Broom.  * 

"You  do  look   cleaned   out,    too,"    said   the 


man,  scanning  him  from  head  to  foot.  *'  I  tell 
you  what,  you  shall  come  with  me  a  bit  and  tame 
the  birds,  and  I'll  find  you  something  to  eat." 


94  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

Ten  minutes  before,  John  Broom  would  have 
jumped  at**  this  offer,  but  now  he  refused  it. 
The  sight  of  the  cockatoo  had  brought  back 
the  fever  of  homesickness  in  all  its  fierceness. 
He  couldn't  stay  out  here.  He  would  dare 
anything,  do  anything,  to  see  the  hills  about 
Lingborough  once  more  before  he  died ;  and 
even  if  he  did  not  live  to  see  them,  he 
might  live  to  sleep  in  that  part  of  Davy's 
Locker  which  should  rock  him  on  the  shores  of 
home. 

The  man  gave  him  a  shilling  for  fastening  a 
ring  and  chain  on  to  the  Cocky's  ankle,  and 
with  this  he  got  the  best  dinner  he  had  eaten 
since  he  lost  sight  of  the  farm-bailiff's  speckled 
hat  in  the  mist. 

And  then  he  went  back  to  the  one-eyed 
sailor,  and  shipped  as  cabin-boy  again  for  the 
homeward  voyage. 


NIGHT    BRINGS    THE    CROWS    HOME.  95 


THE  HIGHLANDER.  —  BARRACK  LIFE.  — 
THE  GREAT  CURSE.— JOHN  BROOM'S 
MONEY-BOX. 

When  John  Broom  did  get  home  he  did  not 
go  to  sea  again.  He  lived  from  hand  to  mouth 
in  the  seaport  town,  and  slept,  as  he  was  well 
accustomed  to  sleep,  in  holes  and  corners. 

Every  day  and  every  night,  through  the  long 
months  of  the  voyage,  he  had  dreamed  of 
begging  his  way  barefoot  to  Miss  Betty's  door. 
But  now  he  did  not  go.  His  life  was  hard,  but 
it  was  not  cruel.  He  was  very  idle,  and  there 
was  plenty  to  see.  He  wandered  about  the 
country  as  of  old.  The  ships  and.  shipping  too 
had  a  fascination  for  him  now  that  the  past  was 
past,  and  here  he  could  watch  them  from  the 
shore ;  .  and,  partly  for  shame  and  partly  for 
pride,  he  could  not  face  the  idea  of  going  back. 


96  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

If  he  had  been  taunted  with  being  a  vagrant 
boy  before,  what  would  be  said  now  if  he  pre- 
sented himself,  a  true  tramp,  to  the  farm-bailiff? 
Besides,  Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  could  not 
forgive  him.     It  was  impossible  ! 

He  was  wandering  about  one  day  when  he 
came  to  some  fine  high  walls  with  buildings 
inside.  There  was  an  open  gateway,  at  which 
stood  a  soldier  with  a  musket.  But  a  woman 
and  some  children  went  in,  and  he  did  not 
shoot  them ;  so  when  his  back  was  turned,  and 
he  was  walking  stiffly  to  where  he  came  from, 
John  Broom  ran  in  through  the  gateway. 

The  first  man  he  saw  was  the  grandest-look- 
ing man  he  had  ever  seen.  Indeed,  he  looked 
more  like  a  bird  than  a  man  — a  big  bird  with  a 
big  black  crest.  He  was  very  tall.  His  feet 
were  broad  and  white,  like  the  feathered  feet 
of  some  plumy  bird,  his  legs  were  bare  and 
brown  and  hairy.  He  was  clothed  in  many 
colors.  He  had  fur  in  front,  which  swung  as 
he  walked,  and  silver  and  shining  stones  about 


"So  when  his  back  was  turned  .  .  .  John  Broom  ran 
in  through  the  gateway." 


FINE    FEATHERS    MAKE    FINE    BIRDS.  Q/ 

him.  He  held  his  head  very  high,  and  from  it 
drooped  great  black  plumes.  His  face  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  cut  —  roughly  but  artistically 
—  out  of  a  block  of  old  wood,  and  his  eyes  were 
the  color  of  a  summer  sky.  And  John  Broom 
felt  as  he  had  felt  when  he  first  saw  Miss 
Betty's  cockatoo. 

In  repose  the  Highlander's  eye  was  as  clear 
as  a  cairngorm  and  as  cold,  but  when  it  fell 
upon  John  Broom  it  took  a  twinkle  not  quite 
unlike  the  twinkle  in  the  one  eye  of  the  sailor ; 
and  then,  to  his  amazement,  this  grand  creature 
beckoned  to  John  Broom  with  a  rather  dirty  hand. 

*'Yes,  sir,"  said  John  Broom,  staring  up  at 
the  splendid  giant,  with  eyes  of  wonder. 

'Tm  saying,"  said  the  Highlander,  confi- 
dentially (and  it  had  a  pleasant  homely  sound 
to  hear  him  speak  like  the  farm-bailiff)  —  "  I'm 
saying,  I'm  confined  to  barracks,  ye  ken ;  and 
I'll  gie'  ye  a  hawpenny  if  ye'll  get  the  bottle 
filled  wi'  whusky.  Roun'  yon  corner  ye'll  see 
the  'Britain's  Defenders.'" 


98  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

But  at  this  moment  he  erected  himself,  his 
turquoise  eyes  looked  straight  before  them, 
and  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head  and  moved 
it  slowly  away  again,  as  a  young  man  with 
more  swinging  grandeur  of  colors  and  fur  and 
plumes,  and  with  greater  glitterings  of  gems 
and  silver,  passed  by,  a  sword  clattering  after 
him. 

Meanwhile  John  Broom  had  been  round  the 
corner  and  was  back  again. 

''What  for  are  ye  stannin'  there,  ye  fule.-*" 
asked  his  new  friend.  ''What  for  didna  ye 
gang  for  the  whusky  ?  " 

"It's  here,  sir." 

"My  certy,  ye  dinna  let  the  grass  grow 
under  your  feet,"  said  the  Highlander ;  and 
he  added,  "  If  ye  want  to  run  errands,  laddie, 
ye  can  come  back  again." 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  fresh  life  for  John 
Broom.  With  many  other  idle  or  homeless 
boys  he  now  haunted  the  barracks,  and  ran 
errands  for  the  soldiers.     His  fleetness  of  foot 


SIN    MAY    BE    CLASPED    SO    CLOSE.  99 

and  ready  wit  made  him  the  favorite.  Per- 
haps, too,  his  youth  and  his  bright  face  and 
eyes  pleaded  for  him,  for  British  soldiers  are 
a  tender-hearted  race. 

He  was  knocked  about,  but  never  cruelly, 
and  he  got  plenty  of  coppers  and  broken 
victuals,  and  now  and  then  an  old  cap  or  pair 
of  boots,  a  world  too  large  for  him.  His  prin- 
cipal errands  were  to  fetch  liquor  for  the  sol- 
diers. In  arms  and  pockets  he  would  sometimes 
carry  a  dozen  bottles  at  once,  and  fly  back  from 
the  canteen  or  public-house  without  breaking  one. 

Before  the  summer  was  over  he  was  familiar 
with  every  barrack-room  and  guard-room  in 
the  place ;  he  had  food  to  eat  and  coppers 
to  spare,  and  he  shared  his  bits  with  the  mon- 
grel dogs  who  lived,  as  he  did,  on  the  good- 
nature of  the  garrison. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  neatness  was  not 
among  John  Broom's  virtues.  He  looped  his 
rags  together  with  bits  of  string,  and  wasted 
his   pence   or   lost    them.     The  soldiers   stand- 


lOO  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

ing  at  the  bar  would  often  give  him  a  drink 
out  of  their  pewter-pots.  It  choked  him  at 
first,  and  then  he  got  used  to  it,  and  liked  it. 
Some  relics  of  Miss  Betty's  teaching  kept  him 
honest.  He  would  not  condescend  to  sip  by 
the  way  out  of  the  soldiers'  jugs  and  bottles 
as  other  errand-boys  did,  but  he  came  to  feel 
rather  proud  of  laying  his  twopence  on  the 
counter,  and  emptying  his  own  pot  of  beer 
with  a  grimace  to  the  bystanders  through  the 
glass  at  the  bottom. 

One  day  he  was  winking  through  the  froth 
of  a  pint  of  porter  at  the  canteen  sergeant's 
daughter,  who  was  in  fits  of  laughing,  when 
the  pewter  was  knocked  out  of  his  grasp,  and 
the  big  Highlander's  hand  was  laid  on  his 
shoulder  and  bore  him  twenty  or  thirty  yards 
from  the  place  in  one  swoop. 

"I'll  trouble  ye  to  give  me  your  attention," 
said  the  Highlander,  when  they  came  to  a 
standstill,  "and  to  speak  the  truth.  Did  ye 
ever  see  me  the  worse  of  liquor?" 


(lOl) 


I02  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

John  Broom  had  several  remembrances  of 
the  clearest  kind  to  that  effect,  so  he  put  up 
his  arms  to  shield  his  head  from  the  probable 
blow,  and  said,   "Yes,  M'Alister." 

"  How  often  ?  "  asked  the  Scotchman. 

"  I  never  counted,"  said  John  Broom ; 
"pretty  often." 

"  How  many  good-conduct  stripes  do  you 
ken  me  to  have  lost  of  your  ain  knowl- 
edge ?  " 

"Three,  M'Alister." 

"  Is  there  a  finer  man  than  me  in  the  regi- 
ment ? "  asked  the  Highlander,  drawing  up 
his  head. 

"  That  there's  not,"  said  John  Broom, 
warmly. 

"  Our  sairgent,  now,"  drawled  the  Scotch- 
man, "  wad  ye  say  he  was  a  better  man  than 
me  ?  " 

"  Nothing  like  so  good,"  said  John  Broom, 
sincerely. 

"  And   what    d'ye    suppose,    man,"    said    the 


WE    CANNOT    SEE    SIN  S    FACE.  IO3 

Highlander,  firing  with  sudden  passion,  till  the 
light  of  his  clear  blue  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
John  Broom's  very  soul  —  "  what  d'ye  suppose 
has  hindered  me  that  I'm  not  sairgent,  when 
yon  man  is  ?  What  has  keepit  me  from  being 
an  officer,  that  had  served  my  country  in  twa 
battles  when  oor  quartermaster  hadna  en- 
listed ?  Wha  gets  my  money  ?  What  lost  me 
my  stripes  ?  What  loses  me  decent  folks' 
respect  and,  waur  than  that,  my  ain  ?  What 
gars  a  hand  that  can  grip  a  broadsword  trem- 
ble like  a  woman's  ?  What  fills  the  canteen 
and  the  kirkyard  ?  What  robs  a  man  of  health 
and  wealth  and  peace  ?  What  ruins  weans  and 
women,  and  makes  mair  homes  desolate  than 
war  ?  Drink,  man,  drink !  The  deevil  of 
drink  !  " 

It  was  not  till  the  glare  in  his  eyes  had 
paled  that  John  Broom  ventured  to  speak. 
Then  he  said,  — 

"  Why  don't  ye  give  it  up,   M' Alister  ?  " 
The   man   rose   to   his  full    height,   and   laid 


I04  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

his  hand  heavily  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and 
his  eyes  seemed  to  fade  with  that  pitiful,  weary 
look,  which  only  such  blue  eyes  show  so  well, 
"  Because  I  canna,''  said  he  ;  *'  because,  for  as 
big  as  I  am,  I  canna.  But  for  as  little  as  you 
are,  laddie,  ye  can,  and.  Heaven  help  me,  ye 
shall." 

That  evening  he  called  John  Broom  into 
the  barrack-room  where  he  slept.  He  was 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  and  had  a  little 
wooden  money-box  in  his  hands. 

*'  What  money  have  ye,  laddie  .?  "  he  asked. 

John  Broom  pulled  out  three  halfpence  lately 
earned,  and  the  Scotchman  dropped  them  slowly 
into  the  box.  Then  he  turned  the  key,  and  put 
it  into  his  pocket,  and  gave  the  box  to  the  boy. 

**Ye'll  put  what  ye  earn  in  there,"  said  he, 
"  I'll  keep  the  key,  and  ye'll  keep  the  box  your- 
sel ;  and  when  it's  opened  we'll  open  it  together, 
and  lay  out  your  savings  in  decent  clothes  for 
ye  against  the  winter." 

At   this   moment   some  men   passing  to  the 


IF    HE    MANNA,    I    WUNNA.  IO5 

canteen,  shouted,  "M'Alister!"  The  High- 
lander did  not  answer,  but  he  started  to  the 
door.  Then  he  stood  irresolute,  and  then  turned 
and  reseated  himself. 

"  Gang  and  bring  me  a  bit  o'  tobacco,"  he 
said,  giving  John  Broom  a  penny.  And  when 
the  boy  had  gone  he  emptied  his  pocket  of  the 
few  pence  left,  and  dropped  them  into  the  box, 
muttering,  "If  he  manna,  I  wunna." 

And  when  the  tobacco  came,  he  lit  his  pipe, 
and  sat  on  the  bench  outside,  and  snarled  at 
everyone  who  spoke  to  him. 


I06  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


OUTPOST    DUTY.  — THE    SERGEANT'S 
STORY.  — GRAND   ROUNDS. 

It  was  a  bitterly  cold  winter.  The  soldiers 
drank  a  great  deal,  and  John  Broom  was  con- 
stantly trotting  up  and  down,  and  the  box  grew 
very  heavy. 

Bottles  were  filled  and  refilled,  in  spite  of 
greatly  increased  strictness  in  the  discipline  of 
the  garrison,  for  there  were  rumors  of  invasion, 
and  penalties  were  heavy,  and  sentry  posts  were 
increased,  and  the  regiments  were  kept  in  readi- 
ness for  action. 

The  Highlander  had  not  cured  himself  of 
drinking,  though  he  had  cured  John  Broom. 
But,  like  others,  he  was  more  wary  just  now, 
and  had  hitherto  escaped  the  heavy  punishments 
inflicted  in  a  time  of  probable  war ;  and  John 
Broom  watched  over  him  with  the  fidelity  of  a 


SECOND    THOUGHTS.  IO7 

sheep  dog,  and  more  than  once  had  roused  him 
with  a  can  of  cold  water  when  he  was  all  but 
caught  by  his  superiors  in  a  state  of  stupor, 
which  would  not  have  been  credited  to  the  frost 
alone. 

The  talk  of  invasion  had  become  grave,  when 
one  day  a  body  of  men  were  ordered  for  outpost 
duty,  and  M'Alister  was  among  them.  The 
officer  had  got  a  room  for  them  in  a  farmhouse, 
where  they  sat  round  the  fire,  and  went  out  by 
turns  to  act  as  sentries  at  various  posts  for  an 
hour  or  two  at  a  time. 

The  novelty  was  delightful  to  John  Broom. 
He  hung  about  the  farmhouse,  and  warmed  him-* 
self  at  the  soldiers'  fire. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  M'Alister  got  him 
apart,  and  whispered,  "  I'm  going  on  duty  the 
night  at  ten,  laddie.  It's  fearsome  cold,  and  I 
hav'na  had  a  drop  to  warm  me  the  day.  If  ye 
could  ha'  brought  me  a  wee  drappie  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  three  roads  —  it's  twa  miles  from 
here,  I'm  thinking  —  " 


I08  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

"It's  not  the  miles,  M'Alister,"  said  John 
Broom,  "but  you're  on  outpost  duty,  and  —  " 

"And  you're  misdoubting  what  may  be  done 
to  ye  for  bringing  liquor  to  a  sentry  on  duty? 
Aye,  aye,  lad,  ye  do  weel  to  be  cautious,"  said 
the  Highlander,  and  he  turned  away. 

But  it  was  not  the  fear  of  consequences  to 
himself  which  had  made  John  Broom  hesitate, 
and  he  was  stung  by  the  implication. 

The  night  was  dark  and  very  cold,  and  the 
Highlander  had  been  pacing  up  and  down  his 
post  for  about  half-an-hour,  when  his  quick  ear 
caught  a  faint  sound  of  footsteps. 

"  Wha  goes  there  ? "  said  he. 

"  It's  I,  M'Alister,"  whispered  John  Broom. 

"Whisht,  laddie,"  said  the  sentry;  "are  ye 
there  after  all  ?     Did  no  one  see  ye .?" 

"  Not  a  soul ;  I  crept  by  the  hedges.  Here's 
your  whisky,  M'Alister ;  but  oh  be  careful ! " 
said  the  lad. 

The  Scotchman's  eyes  glittered  greedily  at 
the  bottle. 


THE    SERGEANT  S    STORY.  IO9 

"Never  fear,"  said  he,  "I'll  just  rub  a  wee 
drappie  on  the  pawms  of  my  hands  to  keep  away 
the  frost-bite,  for  it's  awesome  cold,  man.  Now 
away  wi'  ye,  and  take  tent,  laddie,  keep  off  the 
other  sentries." 

John  Broom  went  back  as  carefully  as  he  had 
come,  and  slipped  in  to  warm  himself  by  the 
guard-room  fire. 

It  was  a  good  one,  and  the  soldiers  sat  close 
round  it.  The  officer  was  writing  a  letter  in 
another  room,  and  in  a  low,  impressive  voice, 
the  sergeant  was  telling  a  story  which  was 
listened  to  with  breathless  attention.  John 
Broom  was  fond  of  stories,  and  he  listened 
also. 

It  was  of  a  friend  of  the  sergeant's,  who  had 
been  a  boy  with  him  in  the  same  village  at 
home,  who  had  seen  active  service  with  him 
abroad,  and  who  had  slept  at  his  post  on  such 
a  night  as  this,  from  the  joint  effects  of  cold 
and  drink.  It  was  war  time,  and  he  had  been 
tried  by  court-martial,  and  shot  for  the  offence. 


I  lO  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

The  sergeant  had  been  one  of  the  firing  party 
to  execute  his  friend,  and  they  had  taken  leave 
of  each  other  as  brothers,  before  the  final  part- 
ing face  to  face  in  this  last  awful  scene. 

The  man's  voice  was  faltering,  when  the  tale 
was  cut  short  by  the  jingling  of  the  field  offi- 
cer's accoutrements  as  he  rode  by  to  visit  the 
outposts.  In  an  instant  the  officer  and  men 
turned  out  to  receive  him ;  and,  after  the  usual 
formalities,  he  rode  on.  The  officer  went  back 
to  his  letter,  and  the  sergeant  and  his  men  to 
their  fireside. 

The  opening  of  the  doors  had  let  in  a  fresh 
volume  of  cold,  and  one  of  the  men  called  to 
John  Broom  to  mend  the  fire.  But  he  was 
gone. 

^  ^  ^  ^  TJC 

John  Broom  was  fleet  of  foot,  and  there  are 
certain  moments  which  lift  men  beyond  their 
natural  powers,  but  he  had  set  himself  a  hard 
task. 

As    he   listened    to    the    sergeant's    tale,    an 


LOVE    LEND    ME    WINGS. 


Ill 


agonizing  fear  smote  him  for  his  friend  M'Alis- 
ter.  Was  there  any  hope  that  the  Highlander 
could  keep  himself  from  the  whisky  ?  Officers 
were  making  their  rounds  at  very  short  inter- 


vals just  now,  and  if  drink  and  cold  overcame 
him  at  his  post ! 

Close  upon  these  thoughts  came  the  jingling 
of  the  field  officer's  sword,  and  the  turn  out  of 


112  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

the  guard.  "  Who  goes  there  ?  "  —  "  Rounds.'* 
—  "What  rounds.?"  —  ''Grand  rounds."— ''Halt, 
grand  rounds,  advance  one,  and  give  the  coun- 
tersign!" The  familiar  words  struck  coldly  on 
John  Broom's  heart,  as  if  they  had  been  orders 
to  a  firing  party,  and  the  bandage  was  already 
across  the  Highlander's  blue  eyes.  Would  the 
grand  rounds  be  challenged  at  the  three  roads 
to-night  ?     He  darted  out  into  the  snow. 

He  flew,  as  the  crow  flies,  across  the  fields,  to 
where  M'Alister  was  on  duty.  It  was  a  much 
shorter  distance  than  by  the  road,  which  was 
winding ;  but  whether  this  would  balance  the 
difference  between  a  horse's  pace  and  his  own 
was  the  question,  and  there  being  no  time  to 
question,  he  ran  on. 

He  kept  his  black  head  down,  and  ran  from 
his  shoulders.  The  clatter,  clatter,  jingle,  jingle, 
on  .the  hard  road  came  to  him  through  the  still 
frost  on  a  level  with  his  left  ear.  It  was  ter- 
rible, but  he  held  on,  dodging  under  the  hedges 
to  be  out  of  sight,  and  the  sound  lessened,  and 


TO    MAKE    MY    PURPOSE    SWIFT.  II3 

by-and-by,  the  road  having  wound  about,  he 
could  hear  it  faintly,  but  behind  Jihn. 

And  he  reached  the  three  roads,  and  M'Alis- 
ter  was  asleep  in  the  ditch. 

But  when,  with  jingle  and  clatter,  the  field 
officer  of  the  day  reached  the  spot,  the  giant 
Highlander  stood  like  a  watch-tower  at  his  post, 
with  a  little  snow  on  the  black  plumes  that 
drooped  upon  his  shoulders. 


114  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


HOSPITAL.  —  "  HAME." 

John  Broom  did  not  see  the  Highlander  again 
for  two  or  three  days.  It  was  Christmas  week, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  war  panic,  there  was  festiv- 
ity enough  in  the  barracks  to  keep  the  errand- 
boy  very  busy. 

Then  came  New  Year's  Eve  —  *' Hogmenay," 
as  the  Scotch  call  it  —  and  it  was  the  Highland 
regiment's  particular  festival.  Worn-out  with 
whisky-fetching  and  with  helping  to  deck  bar- 
rack-rooms and  carrying  pots  and  trestles,  John 
Broom  was  having  a  nap  in  the  evening,  in 
company  with  a  mongrel  deer-hound,  when  a 
man  shook  him,  and  said,  "  I  heard  someone 
asking  for  ye  an  hour  or  two  back ;  M' Alister 
wants  ye." 

"  Where  is  he  } "  said  John  Broom,  jumping  to 
his  feet. 


I'm  wearin'  awa'.  115 

'*  In  hospital ;  he's  "been  there  a  day  or  two. 
He  got  cold  on  out-post  duty,  and  its  flown  to 
his  lungs,  they  say.  Ye  see  he's  been  a  hard 
drinker,  has  M'Alister,  and  I  expect  he's  break- 
ing up." 

With  which  very  just  conclusion  the  speaker 
went  on  into  the  canteen,  and  John  Broom  ran 
to  the  hospital. 

Stripped  of  his  picturesque  trappings,  and 
with  no  plumes  to  shadow  the  hollows  in  his 
temples,  M'Alister  looked  gaunt  and  feeble 
enough,  as  he  lay  in  the  little  hospital  bed, 
which  barely  held  his  long  limbs.  Such  a 
wreck  of  giant  powers  of  body,  and  noble 
qualities  of  mind  as  the  drink-shops  are  pre- 
paring for  the  hospitals  every  day ! 

Since  the  quickly-reached  medical  decision 
that  he  was  in  a  rapid  decline,  and  that  nothing 
could  be  done  for  him,  M'Alister  had  been  left 
a  good  deal  alone.  His  intellect  (and  it  was 
no  fool's  intellect,)  was  quite  clear,  and  if  the 
long  hours  by  himself,  in  which  he  reckoned 


Il6  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

with  his  own  soul,  had*  hastened  the  death- 
damps  on  his  brow,  they  had  also  written  there 
an  expression  which  was  new  to  John  Broom. 
It  was  not  the  old  sour  look,  it  was  a  kind  of 
noble  gravity. 

His  light-blue  eyes  brightened  as  the  boy 
came  in,  and  he  held  out  his  hand,  and  John 
Broom  took  it  with  both  his,  saying  — 

"  I  never  heard  till  this  minute,  M' Alister. 
Eh,  I  do  hope  you'll  be  better  soon." 

"The  Lord  being  merciful  to  me,"  said  the 
Highlander.  "But  this  warld's  nearly  past, 
laddie,  and  I  was  fain  to  see  ye  again.  Dinna 
greet,  man,  for  I've  important  business  wi'  ye, 
and  I  should  wish  your  attention.  Firstly,  I'm 
aboot  to  hand  ower  to  ye  the  key  of  your  box. 
Tak  it,  and  put  it  in  a  pocket  that's  no  got  a 
hole  in  it,  if  you're  worth  one.  Secondly, 
there's  a  bit  bag  I  made  mysel',  and  it's  got  a 
trifle  o'  money  in  it  that  I'm  giving  and  be- 
queathing to  ye,  under  certain  conditions, 
namely,   that   ye  shall   spend   the   contents   of 


I  never  heard  till  this  minute,  M'Alister. 


TO  THE  LAND  O  THE  LEAL.       11/ 

the  box  according  to  my  last  wishes  and  in- 
structions, with  the  ultimate  end  of  your  ain 
benefit,  ye'll  understand." 

A  fit  of  coughing  here  broke  M'Alister's 
discourse  ;  but,  after  drinking  from  a  cup 
beside  him,  he  put  aside  John  Broom's  remon- 
strances with  a  dignified  movement  of  his 
hand,  and  continued,  — 

"When  a  body  comes  of  decent  folk,  he 
won't  just  care,  maybe,  to  have  their  names 
brought  up  in  a  barrack-room.  Ye  never  heard 
me  say  ought  of  my  father  or  my  mither  ? " 

"Never,  M'Alister." 

"  I'd  a  good  hame,"  said  the  Highlander,  • 
with  a  decent  pride  in  his  tone.  "  It  was  a 
strict  hame  —  I've  no  cause  now  to  deceive 
mysel',  and  I'm  thinking  it  was  a  wee  bit  ower 
strict  —  but  it  was  a  good  hame.  I  left  it, 
man  —  I  ran  away." 

The  glittering  blue  eyes  turned  sharply  on 
the  lad,  and  he  went  on :  — 

"A  body  doesna'  care  to  turn  his  byeganes 


Il8  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

oot  for  every  fool  to  peck  at.  Did  I  ever  speer 
about  your  past  life,  and  whar  ye  came  from  ? " 

"Never,  M'Alister." 

"  But  that's  no  to  say  that,  if  I  knew  man- 
ners, I  didna  obsairve.  And  there's  been 
things  now  and  again,  John  Broom,  that's 
gar'd  me  think  that  ye've  had  what  I  had,  and 
done  as  I  did.     Did  ye  rin  awa',  laddie  ? " 

John  Broom  nodded  his  black  head,  but  tears 
choked  his  voice. 

*'Man!"  said  the  Highlander,  "ane  word's 
as  gude's  a  thousand.  Gang  back !  Gang 
hame !  There's  the  bit  siller  here  that's  to 
tak  ye,  and  the  love  yonder  that's  waiting  ye. 
Listen  to  a  dying  man,  laddie,  and  gang 
hame !  " 

**I  doubt  if  they'd  have  me,"  sobbed  John 
Broom,  "I  gave  'em  a  deal  of  trouble,  M'Alister." 

"And  d'ye  think,  lad,  that  that  thought  has 
na'  cursed  me,  and  keepit  me  from  them  that 
loved  me  ?  Aye  lad,  and  till  this  week  I  never 
overcame  it." 


MORS    JANUA    VITJE.  I  I9 

'*  Weel  may  I  want  to  save  ye,  bairn,  "  added 
the  Highlander  tenderly,  "  for  it  was  the  thocht 
of  a'  ye  riskit  for  the  like  of  me  at  the  three 
roads,  that  made  me  consider  wi'  mysel'  that 
I've  aiblins  been  turning  my  back  a'  my  wilfu' 
life  on  love  that's  bigger  than  a  man's  deserv- 
ings.  It's  near  done  now,  and  it'll  never  lie  in 
my  poor  power  so  much  as  rightly  to  thank  ye. 
It's  strange  that  a  man  should  set  store  by  a 
good  name  that  he  doesn'  deserve ;  but  if  ony 
blessings  of  mine  could  bring  ye  good,  they're 
yours,  that  saved  an  old  soldier's  honor,  and 
let  him  die  respectit  in  his  regiment." 

*'0h,  M'Alister,  let  me  fetch  one  of  the 
chaplains  to  write  a  letter  to  fetch  your  fa- 
ther," cried  John  Broom. 

"The  minister's  been  here  this  morning," 
said  the  Highlander,  "and  I've  tell't  him  mair 
than  I've  tell't  you.  And  he's  jest  directed  me 
to  put  my  sinful  trust  in  the  Father  of  us  a'. 
I've  sinned  heaviest  against  Htm,  laddie,  but 
His  love  is  stronger  than  the  lave." 


I20  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

John  Broom  remained  by  his  friend,  whose 
painful  fits  of  coughing,  and  of  gasping  for 
breath,  were  varied  by  intervals  of  seeming 
stupor.  When  a  candle  had  been  brought  in 
and  placed  near  the  bed,  the  Highlander  roused 
himself  and  asked,  — 

"  Is  there  a  Bible  on  yon  table  ?  Could  ye 
read  a  bit  to  me,  laddie  ?  " 

There  is  little  need  to  dwell  on  the  bitter- 
ness of  heart  with  which  John  Broom  con- 
fessed, — 

"I  can't  read  big  words,  M'Alister." 

"Did  ye  never  go  to  school?"  said  the 
Scotchman. 

"  I  didn't  learn,"  said  the  poor  boy ;  "  I 
played." 

"Aye,  aye.  Weel,  ye'll  learn,  when  ye  gang 
hame,"  said  the  Highlander,  in  gentle  tones. 

"  I'll  never  get  home,"  said  John  Broom,  pas- 
sionately. "  I'll  never  forgive  myself.  '  I'll 
never  get  over  it,  that  I  couldn't  read  to  ye 
when  ye  wanted  me,  M'Alister." 


''HAME.  121 

"  Gently,  gently,"  said  the  Scotchman. 
"  Dinna  daunt  yoursel'  owermuch  wi'  the  past, 
laddie.  And  for  me  —  I'm  not  that  presoomtious 
to  think  I  can  square  up  a  misspent  life  as  a 
man  might  compound  wi's  creditors.  'Gin  He 
forgi'es  me,  He'll  forgi'e ;  but  it's  not  a  prayer 
up  or  a  chapter  doun  that'll  stan'  between  me 
and  the  Almighty.  So  dinna  fret  yoursel',  but 
let  me  think  while  I  may." 

And  so,  far  into  the  night,  the  High- 
lander lay  silent,  and  John  Broom  watched 
by  him. 

It  was  just  midnight  when  he  partly  raised 
himself,  and  cried,  — 

"Whisht,  laddie  !  do  ye  hear  the  pipes  .?  " 

The  dying  ears  must  have  been  quick,  for 
John  Broom  heard  nothing ;  but  in  a  few 
moments  he  heard  the  bag-pipes  from  the  offi- 
cers' mess,  where  they  were  keeping  Hogmenay. 
They  were  playing  the  old  year  out  with  "Auld 
lang  syne,"  and  the  Highlander  beat  the  tune 
out  with  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  out  of 


122  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

his  rugged  face  in  the  dim  light,  as  cairngorms 
glitter  in  dark  tartan. 

There  was  a  pause  after  the  first  verse,  and 
he  grew  restless,  and  turning  doubtfully  to 
where  John  Broom  sat,  as  if  his  sight  were 
failing,  he  said,  "  Ye'll  mind  your  promise,  ye'll 
gang  hame  ?  "  And  after  awhile  he  repeated 
the  last  word. 

But  as  he  spoke  there  settled  over  his  face 
a  smile  so  tender  and  so  full  of  happiness,  that 
John  Broom  held  his  breath  as  he  watched  him. 
As  the  light  of  sunrise  creeps  over  the  face  of 
some  rugged  rock,  it  crept  from  chin  to  brow, 
and  the  pale  blue  eyes  shone  tranquil,  like  water 
that  reflects  heaven. 

And  when  it  had  passed  it  left  them  still 
open,  but  gems  that  had  lost  their  ray. 


THERE  S  NAE  LUCK  ABOUT  THE  HOUSE.   1 23 


LUCK  GOES.  —  AND  COMES  AGAIN. 

The  spirit  does  not  always  falter  in  its  faith 
because  the  flesh  is  weary  with  hope  deferred. 
When  week  after  week,  month  after  month,  and 
year  after  year,  went  by  and  John  Broom  was 
not  found,  the  disappointment  seemed  to  "  age  " 
the  little  ladies,  as  Thomasina  phrased  it.  But 
yet  they  said  to  the  parson,  "  We  do  not  re- 
gret it." 

"God  forbid  that  you  should  regret  it," 
said  he. 

And  even  the  lawyer  (whose  heart  was  kinder 
than  his  tongue)  abstained  from  taunting  them 
with  his  prophecies,  and  said,  **  The  force  of  the 
habits  of  early  education  is  a  power  as  well  as 
that  of  inherent  tendencies.  It  is  only  for  your 
sake  that  I  regret  a  too  romantic  benevolence." 
And  Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  tried  to  put  the 


124  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIKE. 

matter  quite  away.  But  John  Broom  was  very 
closely  bound  up  with  the  life  of  many  years 
past.  Thomasina  mourned  him  as  if  he  had 
been  her  son,  and  Thomasina  being  an  old  and 
valuable  servant,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  when 
she  was  miserable  no  one  in  the  house  was  per- 
mitted to  be  quite  at  ease. 

As  to  Pretty  Cocky,  he  lived,  but  Miss 
Kitty  fancied  that  he  grew  less  pretty  and 
drooped  upon  his  polished  perch. 

There  were  times  when  the  parson  felt 
almost  conscience-stricken  because  he  had  en- 
couraged the  adoption  of  John  Broom.  Dis- 
appointments fall  heavily  upon  elderly  people. 
They  may  submit  better  than  the  young,  but 
they  do  not  so  easily  revive.  The  little  old 
ladies  looked  grayer  and  more  nervous,  and  the 
little  old  house  looked  grayer  and  gloomier 
than  of  old. 

Indeed  there  were  other  causes  of  anxiety. 
Times  were  changing,  prices  were  rising,  and 
the   farm    did   not    thrive.      The    lawyer    said 


THEY  ARE  AY  GUDE  THAT  ARE  FAR  AWA  .   12$ 

that  the  farm-bailiff  neglected  his  duties,  and 
that  the  cowherd  did  nothing  but  drink  ;  but 
Miss  Betty  trembled,  and  said  they  could  not 
part  with  old  servants. 

The  farm-bailiff  had  his  own  trouble,  but  he 
kept  it  to  himself.  No  one  knew  how  severely 
he  had  beaten  John  Broom  the  day  before  he 
ran  away,  but  he  remembered  it  himself  with 
painful  clearness.  Harsh  men  are  apt  to  have 
consciences,  and  his  was  far  from  easy  about 
the  lad  who  had  been  entrusted  to  his  care. 
He  could  not  help  thinking  of  it  when  the 
day's  work  was  over,  and  he  had  to  keep  fill- 
ing up  his  evening  whisky-glass  again  and 
again  to  drown  disagreeable  thoughts. 

The  whisky  answered  this  purpose,  but  it 
made  him  late  in  the  morning  ;  it  complicated 
business  on  market  days,  not  to  the  benefit  of 
the  farm,  and  it  put  him  at  a  disadvantage  in 
dealing  with  the  drunken  cowherd. 

The  cowherd  was  completely  upset  by  John 
Broom's  mysterious  disappearance,  and  he  com- 


126  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

forted  himself  as  the  farm-bailiff  did,  but  to  a 
larger  extent.  And  Thomasina  winked  at 
many  irregularities  in  consideration  of  the 
groans  of  sympathy  with  which  he  responded 
to  her  tears  as  they  sat  round  the  hearth  where 
John  Broom  no  longer  lay. 

At  the  time  that  he  vanished  from  Ling- 
borough  the  gossips  of  the  country  side  said, 
"  This  comes  of  making  pets  of  tramps'  brats, 
when  honest  folks'  sons  may  toil  and  moil 
without  notice."  But  when  it  was  proved  that 
the  tramp-boy  had  stolen  nothing,  when  all 
search  for  him  was  vain,  and  when  prosperity 
faded  from  the  place  season  by  season  and  year 
by  year,  there  were  old  folk  who  whispered 
that  the  gaudily-clothed  child  Miss  Betty  had 
found  under  the  broom-bush  had  something 
more  than  common  in  him,  and  that  whoever 
and  whatever  had  offended  the  eerie  creature, 
he  had  taken  the  luck  of  Lingborough  with 
him  when  he  went  away. 

It    was    early    summer.       The    broom    was 


LA    PEUR   EST    GRAND    INVENTEUR.  12/ 

shining  in  the  hedges  with  uncommon  wealth 
of  golden  blossoms.  "  The  lanes  look  for  all 
the  world  as  they  did  the  year  that  poor  child 
was  found,"  said  Thomasina,  wiping  her  eyes. 
Annie  the  lass  sobbed  hysterically,  and  the 
cowherd  found  himself  so  low  in  spirits  that 
after  gazing  dismally  at  the  cow-stalls,  which 
had  not  been  cleaned  for  days  past,  he  betook 
himself  to  the  ale-house  to  refresh  his  ener- 
gies for  this  and  other  arrears  of  work. 

On  returning  to  the  farm,  however,  he  found 
his  hands  still  feeble,  and  he  took  a  drop  or 
two  more  to  steady  them,  after  which  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  certain  new  potatoes  which 
he  had  had  orders  to  dig  were  yet  in  the 
ground.  The  wood  was  not  chopped  for  the 
next  day's  use,  and  he  wondered  what  had 
become  of  a  fork  he  had  had  in  the  morning 
and  had  laid  down  somewhere. 

So  he  seated  himself  on  some  straw  in  the 
corner  to  think  about  it  all,  and  whilst  he  was 
thinking  he  fell  fast  asleep. 


128  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

By  his  own  account  many  remarkable  things 
had  befallen  him  in  the  course  of  his  life, 
including  that  meeting  with  a  Black  Some- 
thing to  which  allusion  has  been  made,  but 
nothing  so  strange  as  what  happened  to  him 
that  night. 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning  and  sat 
up  on  the  straw,  and  looked  around  him,  the 
stable  was  freshly  cleaned,  the  litter  in  the 
stalls  was  shaken  and  turned,  and  near  the  door 
was  an  old  barrel  of  newly-dug  potatoes,  and 
the  fork  stood  by  it.  And  when  he  ran  to 
the  wood-house  there  lay  the  wood  neatly 
chopped  and  piled  to  take  away. 

He  kept  his  own  counsel  that  day  and  took 
credit  for  the  work,  but  when  on  the  morrow 
the  farm-bailiff  was  at  a  loss  to  know  who  had 
thinned  the  turnips  that  were  left  to  do  in 
the  upper  field,  and  Annie  the  lass  found  the 
kitchen-cloths  she  had  left  overnight  to  soak, 
rubbed  through  and  rinsed,  and  laid  to  dry, 
the  cowherd  told  his  tale  to  Thomasina,  and 


LE    BON    TEMPS    VIENDRA.  129 

begged  for  a  bowl  of  porridge  and  cream  to 
set  in  the  barn,  as  one  might  set  a  mouse-trap 
baited  with  cheese. 

"For,"  said  he,  "the  luck  of  Lingborough's 
come  back,  missis.     It\s  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire  f' 


30  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


LOB   LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

''  It's  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire  !  " 

So  Thomasina  whispered  exultingly,  and 
Annie  the  lass  timidly.  Thomasina  cautioned 
the  cowherd  to  hold  his  tongue,  and  she  said 
nothing  to  the  little  ladies  on  the  subject.  She 
felt  certain  that  they  would  tell  the  parson,  and 
he  might  not  approve.  The  farm-bailiff  knew 
of  a  farm  on  the  Scotch  side  of  the  Border 
where  a  Brownie  had  been  driven  away  by  the 
minister  preaching  his  last  Sunday's  sermon 
over  again  at  him,  and  as  Thomasina  said, 
''There'd  been  little  enough  luck  at  Ling- 
borough  lately,  that  they  should  wish  to  scare 
it  away  when  it  came." 

And  yet  the  news  leaked  out  gently,  and  was 
soon  known  all  through  the  neighborhood  —  as 
a  secret. 


THE    FIEND    IS    ROUGH.  I3I 

''The  luck  of  Lingborough's  come  back. 
Lob's  lying  by  the  fire ! " 

He  could  be  heard  at  his  work  any  night, 
and  several  people  had  seen  him,  though  this 
vexed  Thomasina,  who  knew  well  that  the  Good 
People  do  not  like  to  be  watched  at  their  labors. 

The  cowherd  had  not  been  able  to  resist 
peeping  down  through  chinks  in  the  floor  of  the 
loft  above  the  barn,  where  he  slept,  and  one 
night  he  had  seen  Lob  fetching  straw  for  the 
cowhouse.  *'A  great  rough,  black  fellow," 
said  he,  and  he  certainly  grew  bigger  and 
rougher  and  blacker  every  time  the  cowherd 
told  the  tale. 

The  Lubber-fiend  appeared  next  to  a  boy  who 
was  loitering  at  a  late  hour  somewhere  near  the 
little  ladies'  kitchen-garden,  and  whom  he  pur- 
sued and  pelted  with  mud  till  the  lad  nearly 
lost  his  wits  with  terror.  (It  was  the  same  boy 
who  was  put  in  the  lock-up  in  the  autumn  for 
stealing  Farmer  Mangel's  Siberian  crabs.) 

For  this  trick,  however,  the  rough  elf  atoned 


132 


LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


by  leaving  three  pecks  of  newly-gathered  fruit 
in  the  kitchen  the  following  morning.  Never 
had  there  been  such  a  preserving  season  at 
Lingborough  within  the  memory  of  Thomasina. 
The  truth  is,  hobgoblins,  from  Puck  to  Will- 
o'-the-wisp  are  apt  to  play  practical  jokes  and 


knock  people  about  whom  they  meet  after  sun- 
set. A  dozen  tales  of  such  were  rife,  and  folks 
were  more  amused  than  amazed  by  Lob  Lie-by- 
the-fire's  next  prank. 

There  was  an  aged  pauper  who  lived  on  the 
charity  of  the  little   ladies,  and  whom  it  was 


'tis  a  spell,  you  see,  of  much  power.     133 

Miss  Betty's  practice  to  employ  to  do  light 
weeding  in  the  fields  for  heavy  wages.  This 
venerable  person  was  toddling  to  his  home 
in  the  gloaming  with  a  barrow-load  of  Miss 
Betty's  new  potatoes,  dexterously  hidden  by 
an  upper  sprinkling  of  groundsel  and  hemlock, 
when  the  Lubber-fiend  sprang  out  from  behind 
an  elder-bush,  ran  at  the  old  man  with  his 
black  head,  and  knocked  him,  heels  uppermost, 
into  the  ditch.  The  wheelbarrow  was  after- 
wards found  in  Miss  Betty's  farm-yard,  quite 
empty. 

And  when  the  cowherd  (who  had  his  own 
opinion  of  the  aged  pauper,  and  it  was  a  very 
poor  one)  went  that  evening  to  drink  Lob  Lie- 
by-the-fire's  health  from  a  bottle  he  kept  in 
the  harness-room  window,  he  was  nearly  choked 
with  the  contents,  which  had  turned  into  salt 
and  water,  as  fairy  jewels  turn  to  withered  leaves. 

But  luck  had  come  to  Lingborough.  There 
had  not  been  such  crops  for  twice  seven  years 
past.  ' 


134  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

The  lay-away  hen's  eggs  were  brought  regu- 
larly to  the  kitchen. 

The  ducklings  were  not  eaten  by  rats. 


No  fowls  were  stolen. 

The   tub   of   pig-meal   lasted  three  times  as 
long  as  usual. 


GOOD    MANAGEMENT.  1 35 

The  cart-wheels  and  gate-hinges  were  oiled 
by  unseen  fingers. 

The  mushrooms  in  the  croft  gathered  them- 
selves and  lay  down  on  a  dish  in  the 
larder. 

It  is  by  small  savings  that  a  farm  thrives, 
and  Miss  Betty's  farm  throve. 

Everybody  worked  with  more  alacrity.  An- 
nie the  lass  said  the  butter  came  in  a  way 
that  made  it  a  pleasure  to  churn. 

The  neighbors  knew  even  more  than  those 
on  the  spot.  They  said  —  That  since  Lob 
came  back  to  Lingborough  the  hens  laid 
eggs  as  large  as  turkeys'  eggs,  and  the  turkeys* 
eggs,  were  —  oh,  you  wouldn't  believe  the 
size ! 

That  the  cows  gave  nothing  but  cream,  and 
that  Thomasina  skimmed  butter  off  it  as  less 
lucky  folks  skim  cream  from  milk. 

That  her  cheeses  were  as  rich  as  butter. 

That  she  sold  all  she  made,  for  Lob  took 
the   fairy   butter    from    the    old    trees   in   the 


136  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

avenue,  and  made  it  up  into  pats  for  Miss 
Betty's  table. 

That  if  you  bought  Lingborough  turnips,  you 
might  feed  your  cows  on  them  all  the  winter 
and  the  milk  would  be  as  sweet  as  new-mown 
hay. 

That  horses  foddered  on  Lingborough  hay 
would  have  thrice  the  strength  of  others,  and 
that  sheep  who  cropped  Lingborough  pastures 
would  grow  three  times  as  fat. 

That  for  as  good  a  watch-dog  as  it  was,  the 
sheep  dog  never  barked  at  Lob,  a  plain  proof 
that  he  was  more  than  human. 

That  for  all  its  good  luck  it  was  not  safe  to 
loiter  near  the  place  after  dark,  if  you  wished  to 
keep  your  senses.  And  if  you  took  so  much  as 
a  fallen  apple  belonging  to  Miss  Betty,  yoii 
might  look  out  for  palsy  or  St.  Vitus's  dance, 
or  be  carried  off  bodily  to  the  underground 
folk. 

Finally,  that  it  was  well  all  the  cows  gave 
double,  for  that  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire  drank  two 


IS    BETTER    THAN    GOOD    INCOME. 


137 


gallons  of  the  best  cream  every  day,  with  curds, 
porridge,  and  other  dainties  to  match.  But  what 
did  that  matter,  when  he  had  been  overheard  to 
swear  that  luck  should  not  leave  Lingborough 
till  Miss  Betty  owned  half  the  country  side  ? 


133  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 


MISS   BETTY   IS   SURPRISED. 

Miss  Betty  and  Miss  Kitty  having  accepted  a 
polite  invitation  from  Mrs.  General  Dunmaw, 
went  down  to  tea  with  that  lady  one  fine  even- 
ing in  this  eventful  summer. 

Death  had  made  a  gap  or  two  in  the  familiar 
circle  during  the  last  fourteen  years,  but  other- 
wise it  was  quite  the  same,  except  that  the  law- 
yer was  married  and  not  quite  so  sarcastic,  and 
that  Mrs.  Brown  Jasey  had  brought  a  young 
niece  with  her  dressed  in  the  latest  fashion, 
which  looked  quite  as  odd  as  new  fashions  are 
wont  to  do,  and  with  a  coiffure  "enough  to 
frighten  the  French  away,"  as  her  aunt  told 
her. 

It  was  while  this  young  lady  was  getting  more 
noise  out  of  Mrs.  Dunmaw's  red  silk  and  rose- 
wood piano  than  had   been   shaken    out   of   it 


(139) 


I40  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

during  the  last  thirty  years,  that  the  lawyer 
brought  his  cup  of  coffee  to  Miss  Betty's  side, 
and  said,  suavely,  "  I  hear  wonderful  accounts  of 
Lingborough,  dear  Miss  Betty." 

*'  I  am  thankful  to  say,  sir,  that  the  farm  is 
doing  well  this  year.  I  am  very  thankful,  for 
the  past  few  years  have  been  unfavorable,  and 
we  had  begun  to  face  the  fact  that  it  might 
be  necessary  to  sell  the  old  place.  And,  I  will 
not  deny,  sir,  that  it  would  have  gone  far  to 
break  my  heart,  to  say  nothing  of  my  sister 
Kitty's." 

"  Oh,  we  shouldn't  have  let  it  come  to 
that,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  I  could  have  raised  a 
loan  —  " 

''Sir,"  said  Miss  Betty  with  dignity,  "if  we 
have  our  own  pride,  I  hope  it's  an  honest  one. 
Lingborough  will  have  passed  out  of  our  family 
when  it's  kept  up  on  borrowed  money." 

"  I  could  live  in  lodgings,"  added  Miss  Betty, 
firmly,  "  little  as  I've  been  accustomed  to  it,  but 
7iot  in  debt'' 


THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANGETH.       I4I 

"Well,  well,  my  dear  madam,  we  needn't  talk 
about  it  now.  But  I'm  dying  of  curiosity  as  to 
the  mainstay  of  all  this  good  luck." 

"  The  turnips  —  "  began  Miss  Betty. 

"  Bless  my  soul.  Miss  Betty  !  "  cried  the  law- 
yer, "  I'm  not  talking  of  turnips.  I'm  talking 
of  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire,  as  all  the  country  side  is 
for  that  matter." 

"  The  country  people  have  plenty  of  tales 
of  him,"  said  Miss  Betty,  with  some  pride  in 
the  family  goblin.  "He  used  to  haunt  the 
old  barns,  they  say,  in  my  great-grandfather's 
time." 

"And  now  you've  got  him  back  again,"  said 
the  lawyer. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Miss  Betty. 

On  which  the  lawyer  poured  into  her  aston- 
ished ear  all  the  latest  news  on  the  subject,  and 
if  it  had  lost  nothing  before  reaching  his  house 
in  the  town,  it  rather  gained  in  marvels  as  he 
repeated  it  to  Miss  Betty. 

No  wonder  that  the  little   lady  was  anxious 


142  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

to  get  home  to  question  Thomasina,  and  that 
somewhat  before  the  usual  hour  she  said,  — 

^'  Sister  Kitty,  if  it's  not  too  soon  for  the  ser- 
vant —  " 

And  the  parson,  threading  his  way  to  where 
Mrs.  Dunmaw's  china  crape  shawl  (dyed  crim- 
son) shone  in  the  bow  window,  said,  "  The 
clergy  should  keep  respectable  hours,  madam ; 
especially  when  they  are  as  old  as  I  am.  Will 
you  allow  me  to  thank  you  for  a  very  pleasant 
evening,  and  to  say  good-night  ?  " 


IT."  143 


THE   PARSON   AND   THE   LUBBER-FIEND. 

''  Do  you  think  there'd  be  any  harm  in  leav- 
ing it  alone,  sister  Betty.?"  said  Miss  Kitty, 
tremulously.  * 

They  had  reached  Lingborough,  and  the  par- 
son had  come  in  with  them,  by  Miss  Betty's 
request,  and  Thomasina  had  been  duly  ex- 
amined. 

"  Eh,  Miss  Betty,  why  should  ye  chase  away 
good  luck  with  the  minister  >  "  cried  she. 

''  Sister  Kitty  !  Thomasina  !  "  said  Miss  Betty. 
"  I  would  not  accept  good  luck  from  a  doubtful 
quarter  to  save  Lingborough.  But  if  It  can  face 
this  excellent  clergyman  the  Being  who  haunted 
my  great-grandfather's  farm  is  still  welcome  to 
the  old  barns,  and  you,  Thomasina,  need  not 
grudge  It  cream  or  curds." 

**  You're  quite  right,  sister  Betty,"  said  Miss 


144  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

Kitty.     You    always    are ;    but    oh    dear,   oh 
dear ! "  — 

"  Thomasina  tells  me,"  said  Miss  Betty,  turn- 
ing to  the  parson,  "that  on  chilly  evenings  It 
sometimes  comes  and  lies  by  the  kitchen  fire 
after  they  have  gone  to  bed,  and  I  can  distinctly 
remember  my  grandmother  mentioning  the  same 
thing.  Thomasina  has  of  late  left  the  kitchen 
door  on  the  latch  for  Its  convenience,  and  as 
they  had  to  sit  up  late  for  us,  she  and  Annie 
have  taken  their  work  into  the  still-room  to 
leave  the  kitchen  free  for  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire. 
They  have  not  looked  into  the  kitchen  this 
evening,  as  such  beings  do  not  like  to  be 
watched.  But  they  fancy  that  they  heard  It 
come  in.  I  trust,  sir,  that  neither  in  myself  nor 
my  sister  Kitty  does  timidity  exceed  a  proper 
feminine  sensibility,  where  duty  is  concerned. 
If  you  will  be  good  enough  to  precede  us,  we 
will  go  to  meet  the  old  friend  of  my  great-grand- 
father's fortunes,  and  we  leave  it  entirely  to 
your  valuable  discretion  to  pursue  what  course 
you  think  proper  on  the  occasion." 


"IT.  145 

"Is  this  the  door?"  said  the  parson,  cheer- 
fully, after  knocking  his  head  against  black 
beams  and  just  saving  his  legs  down  shallow 
and  unexpected  steps  on  his  way  to  the  kitchen 
—  beams  so  unfelt  and  steps  so  familiar  to  the 
women  that  it  had  never  struck  them  that  the 
long  passage  was  not  the  most  straightforward 
walk  a  man  could  take  — "  I  think  you  said  It 
generally  lies  on  the  hearth  ?  " 

The  happy  thought  struck  Thomasina  that 
the  parson  might  be  frightened  out  of  his  un- 
lucky interference. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  said  she  from  behind. 
"We've  heard  him  rolling  by  the  fire,  and 
growling  like  thunder  to  himself.  They  say 
he's  an  awful  size,  too,  with  the  strength  of  four 
men,  and  a  long  tail,  and  eyes  like  coals  of  fire." 

But  Thomasina  spoke  in  vain,  for  the  parson 
opened  the  door,  and  as  they  pressed  in,  the 
moonlight  streaming  through  the  latticed  win- 
dow showed  Lob  lying  by  the  fire. 

"There's  his  tail!   Ay k!"  screeched  An- 


146  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

nie  the  lass,  and  away  she  went,  without  drawing 
breath,  to  the  top  garret,  where  she  locked  and 
bolted  herself  in,  and  sat  her  bandbox  flat,  and 
screamed  for  help. 

But  it  was  the  plumy  tail  of  the  sheep  dog, 

•  who   was   lying   there   with   the   Lubber-fiend. 

And  Lob  was  asleep,  with  his  arms  round  the 

sheep  dog's  neck,  and  the  sheep  dog's  head  lay 

on  his  breast,  and  his  own  head  touched  the  dog's. 

And  it  was  a  smaller  head  than  the  parson 
had  been  led  to  expect,  and  it  had  thick  black 
hair. 

As  the  parson  bent  over  the  hearth,  Thoma- 
sina  took  Miss  Kitty  round  the  waist,  and  Miss 
Betty  clutched  her  black  velvet  bag  till  the  steel 
beads  ran  into  her  hands,  and  they  were  quite 
prepared  for  an  explosion,  and  sulphur,  and  blue 
lights,  and  thunder. 

And  then  the  parson's  deep  round  voice  broke 
the  silence,  saying,  — 

"  Is  that  you,  lad  ?  God  bless  you,  John 
Broom.     You're  welcome  home !  " 


SOME  THINGS  CAN  NOT  BE  TOLD.    I47 


THE   END. 

Some  things  —  such  as  gossip — gain  in  the 
telling,  but  there  are  others  before  which  words 
fail,  though  each  heart  knows  its  own  power  of 
sympathy.  And  such  was  the  joy  of  the  little 
ladies  and  of  Thomasina  at  John  Broom's  return. 

The  sheep  dog  had  had  his  satisfaction  out 
long  ago,  and  had  kept  it  to  himself,  but  how 
Pretty  Cocky  crowed,  and  chuckled,  and  danced, 
and  bowed  his  crest,  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  amber  wings,  and  kicked  his  seed-pot  over, 
and  spilled  his  water-pot  on  to  the  Derbyshire 
marble  chess-table,  and  screamed  till  the  room 
rang  again,  and  went  on  screaming,  with  Miss 
Kitty's  pocket-handkerchief  over  his  head  to 
keep  him  quiet,  my  poor  pen  can  but  imper- 
fectly describe. 

The  desire  to  atone  for  the  past  which  had  led 


148  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

John  Broom  to  act  the  part  of  one  of  those  Good- 
fellows  who  have,  we  must  fear,  finally  deserted 
us,  will  be  easily  understood.  And  to  a  nature 
of  his  type,  the  earning  of  some  self-respect, 
and  of  a  new  character  before  others,  was  per- 
haps a  necessary  prelude  to  future  well-doing. 

He  did  do  well.  He  became  "a  good  scholar," 
as  farmers  were  then.  He  spent  as  much  of  his 
passionate  energies  on  the  farm  as  the  farm 
would  absorb,  and  he  restrained  the  rest.  It  is 
not  cockatoos  only  who  have  sometimes  to  live 
and  be  happy  in  this  unfinished  life  with  one 
wing  clipped. 

In  fine  weather,  when  the  perch  was  put  into 
the  garden.  Miss  Betty  was  sometimes  startled 
by  stumbling  on  John  Broom  in  the  dusk,  sitting 
on  his  heels,  the  unfastened  chain  in  his  hand, 
with  his  black  head  lovingly  laid  against  Cocky's 
white  and  yellow  poll,  talking  in  a  low  voice, 
and  apparently  with  the  sympathy  of  his  com- 
panion ;  and,  as  Miss  Betty  justly  feared,  of  that 
"other   side   of   the  world,"    which   they  both 


FOR   OLD    SAKE  S    SAKE.  I49 

knew,  and  which  both  at  times  had  cravings  to 
revisit. 

Even  after  the  sobering  influences  of  middle 
age  had  touched  him,  and  a  wife  and  children 
bound  him  with  the  quiet  ties  of  home,  he  had 
(at  long  intervals)  his  "restless  times,"  when 
his  good  ** missis"  would  bring  out  a  little  store 
laid  by  in  one  of  the  children's  socks,  and  would 
bid  him  **  Be  off,  and  get  a  breath  of  the  sea- 
air,"  but  on  condition  that  the  sock  went  with 
him  as  his  purse.  John  Broom  always  looked 
ashamed  to  go,  but  he  came  back  the  better, 
and  his  wife  was  quite  easy  in  his  absence  with 
that  confidence  in  her  knowledge  of  "  the  mas- 
ter," which  is  so  mysterious  to  the  unmarried, 
and  which  Miss  Betty  looked  upon  as  "  want  of 
feeling"  to  the  end.  She  always  dreaded  that 
he  would  not  return,  and  a  little  ruse  which  she 
adopted  of  giving  him  money  to  make  bargains 
for  foreign  articles  of  vertu  with  the  sailors,  is 
responsible  for  many  of  the  choicest  ornaments 
in  the  Lingborough  parlor. 


150  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

**The  sock'll  bring  him  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Broom,  and  home  he  came,  and  never  could  say 
what  he  had  been  doing.  Nor  was  the  account 
given  by  Thomasina's  cousin,  who  was  a  tide- 
waiter  down  yonder,  particularly  satisfying  to 
the  women's  curiosity.  He  said  that  John 
Broom  was  always  about ;  that  he  went  aboard 
of  all  the  craft  in  the  bay,  and  asked  whence 
they  came  and  whither  they  were  bound.  That, 
being  once  taunted  to  it,  he  went  up  the  rigging 
of  a  big  vessel  like  a  cat,  and  came  down  it  look- 
ing like  a  fool.  That,  as  a  rule,  he  gossipped 
and  shared  his  tobacco  with  sailors  and  fisher- 
men, and  brought  out  the  sock  much  oftener 
than  was  prudent  for  the  benefit  of  the  ragged 
boys  who  haunt  the  quay. 

He  had  two  other  weaknesses,  which  a  faith- 
ful biographer  must  chronicle. 

A  regiment  on  the  march  would  draw  him 
from  the  plough-tail  itself,  and  "  With  daddy  to 
see  the  pretty  soldiers"  was  held  to  excuse  any 
of  Mrs.  Broom's  children  from  household  duties. 


HE    THAT    THOLES    O  ERCOMES.  I  5  I 

The  other  shall  be  described  in  the  graphic 
language  of  that  acute  observer  the  farm-bailiff. 

"  If  there  cam'  an  Irish  beggar,  wi'  a  stripy 
cloot  roond  him  and  a  bellows  under  's  arm,  and 
ca'd  himsel'  a  Hielander,  the  lad  wad  gi'e  him 
his  silly  head  off  his  shoulders." 

As  to  the  farm-bailiff,  perhaps  no  one  felt 
more  or  said  less  than  he  did  on  John  Broom's 
return.  But  the  tones  of  his  voice  had  tender 
associations  for  the  boy's  ears  as  he  took  off  his 
speckled  hat,  and  after  contemplating  the  inside 
for  some  moments,  put  it  on  again,  and  said,  — 

"  Aweel,  lad,  sae  ye've  cam'  hame  ? "    , 

But  he  listened  with  quivering  face  when  John 
Broom  told  the  story  of  M'Alister,  and  when  it 
was  ended  he  rose  and  went  out,  and  "  took  the 
pledge  "  against  drink,  and  —  kept  it. 

Moved  by  similar  enthusiasm,  the  cowherd 
took  the  pledge  also,  and  if  he  didn't  keep  it,  he 
certainly  drank  less,  chiefly  owing  to  the  vig- 
ilant oversight  of  the  farm-bailiff,  who  now 
exercised  his  natural  severity  almost  exclusively 


152  LOB    LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. 

in  the  denunciation  of  all  liquors  whatsoever, 
from  the  cowherd's  whisky  to  Thomasina's 
elder-flower  wine. 

The  plain  cousin  left  his  money  to  the  little 
old  ladies,  and  Lingborough  continued  to  flourish. 

Partly  perhaps  because  of  this,  it  is  doubtful 
if  John  Broom  was  ever  looked  upon  by  the 
rustics  as  quite  "  like  other  folk." 

The  favorite  version  of  his  history  is  that  he 
was  Lob  under  the  guise  of  a  child ;  that  he 
was  driven  away  by  new  clothes ;  that  he  re- 
turned from  unwillingness  to  see  an  old  family 
go  to  ruin  ''  which  he  had  served  for  hundreds 
of  years "  ;  that  the  parson  preached  his  last 
Sunday's  sermon  at  him ;  and  that,  having 
stood  that  test,  he  took  his  place  among 
Christian  people. 

Whether  a  name  invented  off-hand,  however 
plain  and  sensible,  does  not  stick  to  a  man  as 
his  father's  does,  is  a  question.  But  John 
Broom  was  not  often  called  by  his. 

With  Scotch  caution,  the  farm-bailiff  seldom 


There  goes  Lob  Lie-by- the-Fire,  the  Luck  of  Lingborough! 


OLD  AGE  HATH  HIS  HONOR  AND  HIS  TOIL.       I  53 


exceeded  the  safe  title  of  **  Man ! "  and  the 
parson  was  apt  to  address  him  as  "My  dear 
boy "  when  he  had  certainly  outgrown  the 
designation. 

Miss  Betty  called  him  John  Broom,  but  the 
people  called  him  by  the  name  he  had  earned. 

And  long  after  his  black  hair  lay  white  and 
thick  on  his  head,  like  snow  on  the  old  barn 
roof,  and  when  his  dark  eyes  were  dim  in  an 
honored  old  age,  the  village  children  would 
point  him  out  to  each  other,  crying,  "  There 
goes  Lob  Lie-by-the-fire,  the  Luck  of  Ling- 
borough  ! " 


SNAP-DRAGONS 

A   TALE   OF   CHRISTMAS   EVE. 


MR.   AND   MRS.    SKRATDJ. 

iNCE    upon     a 
time  there  lived 
a  certain  fam- 
ily of  the  name 
ofSkratdj.    (It 
has  a  Russian 
or  Polish  look, 
and    yet    they 
most  certainly 
^<-  lived    in    Eng-. 
land.)      They 
were     remark- 
able for  the  following  peculiarity.     They  seldom 
seriously  quarrelled,  but  they  never  agreed  about 
(155) 


1 56  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

anything.  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  it  were 
more  painful  for  their  friends  to  hear  them 
constantly  contradicting  each  other,  or  grati- 
fying to  discover  that  it  "  meant  nothing,"  and 
was  ''only  their  way." 

It  began  with  the  father  and  mother.  They 
were  a  worthy  couple,  and  really  attached  to 
each  other.  But  they  had  a  habit  of  contra- 
dicting each  other's  statements,  and  opposing 
each  other's  opinions,  which,  though  mutually 
understood  and  allowed  for  in  private,  was  most 
trying  to  the  by-standers  in  public.  If  one 
related  an  anecdote,  the  other  would  break  in 
with  half-a-dozen  corrections  of  trivial  details 
of  no  interest  or  importance  to  anyone,  the 
speakers  included.  For  instance  :  Suppose  the 
two  dining  in  a  strange  house,  and  Mrs.  Skratdj 
seated  by  the  host,  and  contributing  to  the 
small-talk  of  the  dinner-table.     Thus  :  — 

"  Oh  yes.  Very  changeable  weather  indeed. 
It  looked  quite  promising  yesterday  morning  in 
the  town,  but  it  began  to  rain  at  noon." 


MIGHTY    CONTESTS.  15/ 

*'A  quarter  past  eleven,  my  dear,"  Mr. 
Skratdj's  voice  would  be  heard  to  say  from 
several  chairs  down,  in  the  corrective  tones  of  a 
husband  and  a  father ;  "  and  really,  my  dear,  so 
far  from  being  a  promising  morning,  I  must  say 
it  looked  about  as  threatening  as  it  well  could. 
Your  memory  is  not  always  accurate  in  small 
matters,  my  love." 

But  Mrs.  Skratdj  had  not  been  a  wife  and 
a  mother  for  fifteen  years,  to  be  snuffed  out  at 
one  snap  of  the  martial  snuffers.  As  Mr. 
Skratdj  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  she  leaned 
forward  in  hers,  and  defended  herself  across  the 
intervening  couples. 

"Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Skratdj,  you  said  your- 
self the  weather  had  not  been  so  promising  for 
a  week." 

"What  I  said,  my  dear,  pardon  me,  was  that 
the  barometer  was  higher  than  it  had  been  for 
a  week.  But,  as  you  might  have  observed  if 
these  details  were  in  your  line,  my  love,  which 
they  are  not,  the  rise  was  extraordinarily  rapid, 


158  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

and  there  is  no  surer  sign  of  unsettled  weather. 
—  But  Mrs.  Skratdj  is  apt  to  forget  these  un- 
important trifles,"  he  added,  with  a  compre- 
hensive smile  round  the  dinner-table ;  *'  her 
thoughts  are  very  properly  absorbed  by  the 
more  important  domestic^  questions  of  the 
nursery." 

"  Now  I  think  that's  rather  unfair  on  Mr. 
Skratdj's  part,"  Mrs.  Skratdj  would  chirp,  with 
a  smile  quite  as  affable  and  as  general  as  her 
husband's.  **  I'm  sure  he's  quite  as  forgetful 
and  inaccurate  as  /  am.  And  I  don't  think  my 
memory  is  at  all  a  bad  one." 

"  You  forgot  the  dinner  hour  when  we  were 
going  out  to  dine  last  week,  nevertheless,"  said 
Mr.  Skratdj. 

"  And  you  couldn't  help  me  when  I  asked 
you,"  was  the  sprightly  retort.  "  And  I'm  sure 
it's  not  like  you  to  forget  anything  about  dimtery 
my  dear." 

**The  letter  was  addressed  to  you,"  said  Mr. 
Skratdj. 


KNIVES!  159 

"I  sent  it  to  you  by  Jemima,"  said  Mrs. 
Skratdj. 

"I  didn't  read  it,"  said  Mr.  Skratdj. 

"  Well,  you  burnt  it,"  said  Mrs.  Skratdj ;  "  and, 
as  I  always  say,  there's  nothing  more  foolish 
than  burning  a  letter  of  invitation  before  the 
day,  for  one  is  certain  to  forget." 

"  I've  no  doubt  you  always  do  say  it,"  Mr. 
Skratdj  remarked,  with  a  smile,  "  but  I  certainly 
never  remember  to  have  heard  the  observation 
from  your  lips,  my  love." 

"Whose  memory's  in  fault  there.?"  asked 
Mrs.  Skratdj  triumphantly ;  and  as  at  this 
point  the  ladies  rose,  Mrs.  Skratdj  had  the  last 
word. 

Indeed,  as  may  be  gathered  from  this  con- 
versation, Mrs.  Skratdj  was  quite  able  to  de- 
fend herself.  When  she  was  yet  a  bride,  and 
young  and  timid,  she  used  to  collapse  when  Mr. 
Skratdj  contradicted  her  statements,  and  set 
her  stories  straight  in  public.  Then  she  hardly 
ever  opened  her  lips  without  disappearing  under 


l60  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

the  domestic  extinguisher.  But  in  the  course 
of  fifteen  years  she  had  learned  that  Mr. 
Skratdj's  bark  was  a  great  deal  worse  than  his 
bite.  (If,  indeed,  he  had  a  bite  at  all.)  Thus 
snubs  that  made  other  people's  ears  tingle,  had 
no  effect  whatever  on  the  lady  to  whom  they 
were  addressed,  for  she  knew  exactly  what  they 
were  worth,  and  had  by  this  time  become 
fairly  adept  at  snapping  in  return.  In  the  days 
when  she  succumbed  she  was  occasionally 
unhappy,  but  now  she  and  her  husband  under- 
stood each  other,  and  having  agreed  to  differ, 
they  unfortunately  agreed  also  to  differ  in 
public. 

Indeed,  if  was  the  by-standers  who  had  the 
worst  of  it  on  these  occasions.  To  the  worthy 
couple  themselves  the  habit  had  become  second 
nature,  and  in  no  way  affected  the  friendly 
tenor  of  their  domestic  relations.  They  would 
interfere  with  each  other's  conversation,  con- 
tradicting assertions,  and  disputing  conclusions 
for  a  whole  evening  ;   and  then,  when   all  the 


SCISSORS!  l6l 

world  and  his  wife  thought  that  these  ceaseless 
sparks  of  bickering  must  blaze  up  into  a  flaming 
quarrel  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  they  would 
bowl  amicably  home  in  a  cab,  criticising  the 
friends  who  were  commenting  upon  them,  and 
as  little  agreed  about  the  events  of  the  evening 
as  about  the  details  of  any  other  events  whatever. 
Yes.  The  by-standers  certainly  had  the 
worst  of  it.  Those  who  were  near  wished  them- 
selves anywhere  else,  especially  when  appealed 
to.  Those  who  were  at  a  distance  did  not  mind 
so  much.  A  domestic  squabble  at  a  certain 
distance  is  interesting,  like  an  engagement 
viewed  from  a  point  beyond  the  range  of  guns. 
In  such  a  position  one  may  some  day  be  placed 
oneself !  Moreover,  it  gives  a  touch  of  excite- 
ment to  a  dull  evening  to  be  able  to  say  sotto 
voce  to  one's  neighbor,  ''Do  listen!  The 
Skratdjs  are  at  it  again ! "  Their  unmarried 
friends  thought  a  terrible  abyss  of  tyranny  and 
aggravation  must  lie  beneath  it  all,  and  blessed 
their  stars  that  they  were  still  single,  and  able 


1 62  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

to  tell  a  tale  their  own  way.  The  married  ones 
had  more  idea  of  how  it  really  was,  and  wished 
in  the  name  of  common  sense  and  good  taste 
that  Skratdj  and  his  wife  would  not  make  fools 
of  themselves. 

So  it  went  on,  however ;  and  so,  I  suppose, 
it  goes  on  still,  for  not  many  bad  habits  are 
cured  in  middle  age. 

On  certain  questions  of  comparative  speaking 
their  views  were  never  identical.  Such  as  the 
temperature  being  hot  or  cold,  things  being 
light  or  dark,  the  apple-tarts  being  sweet  or 
sour.  So  one  day  Mr.  Skratdj  came  into  the 
room,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  planting  himself 
at  the  fire  with  "Bitterly  cold  it  is  to-day,  to 
be  sure." 

"Why,  my  dear  William,"  said  Mrs.  Skratdj, 
"  I'm  sure  you  must  have  got  a  cold ;  I  feel  a 
fire  quite  oppressive  myself." 

"You  were  wishing  you'd  a  seal-skin  jacket 
yesterday,  when  it  wasn't  half  as  cold  as  it  is 
to-day,"  said  Mr.  Skratdj. 


STRAINING    HARSH    DISCORDS.  163 

m 

"My  dear  William  !  Why,  the  children  were 
shivering  the  whole  day,  and  the  wind  was  in 
the  north." 

''Due  east,  Mrs.  Skratdj." 

**I  know  by  the  smoke,"  said  Mrs.  Skratdj, 
softly  but  decidedly. 

*'  I  fancy  I  can  tell  an  east  wind  when  I  feel 
it,"  said  Mr.  Skratdj,  jocosely,  to  the  company. 

*'  I  told  Jemima  to  look  at  the  weathercock," 
murmured  Mrs.  Skratdj. 

"I  don't  care  a  fig  for  Jemima,"  said  her 
husband. 

On  another  occasion  Mrs.  Skratdj  and  a  lady 
friend  were  conversing. 

.  .  .  "We  met  him  at  the  Smiths' — a 
gentlemanlike  agreeable  man,  about  forty," 
said  Mrs.  Skratdj,  in  reference  to  some  matter 
interesting  to  both  ladies. 

"Not  a  day  over  thirty-five,"  said  Mr.  Skratdj, 
from  behind  his  newspaper. 

"Why,  my  dear  William,  his  hair's  gray," 
said  Mrs.  Skratdj. 


164  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

"  Plenty  of  men  are  gray  at  thirty,"  said  Mr. 
Skratdj.  "I  knew  a  man  who  was  gray  at 
twenty-five." 

"Well,  forty  or  thirty-five,  it  doesn't  much 
matter,"  said  Mrs.  Skratdj,  about  to  resume  her 
narration. 

"  Five  years  matter  a  good  deal  to  most 
people  at  thirty-five,"  said  Mr,  Skratdj,  as  he 
walked  towards  the  door.  *'  They  would  make 
a  remarkable  difference  to  me,  I  know  "  ;  and 
with  a  jocular  air  Mr.  Skratdj  departed,  and 
Mrs.  Skratdj  had  the  rest  of  the  anecdote  her 
own  way. 


THE    CHILD    HATH    A    RED    TONGUE. 


[65 


THE   LITTLE   SKRATDJS. 

THE  Spirit  of  Con- 
tradiction  finds  a 
place  in  most  nurs- 
eries, though 
to  a  very  vary- 
ing degree  in 
differentones. 
Children  snap 
and  snarl  by 
nature,  like 
young  pup- 
pies;  and 
most  of  us  can  remember  taking  part  in  some 
such  spirited  dialogues  as  the  following :  — 

(  *'I  will."  (  "You  daren't." 


''You  can't' 
"You  shall." 
"I  won't." 


I  "I 


dare." 
(  "I'll  tell  Mamma." 
\  "  I  don't  care  if  you  do. 


l66  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

It  is  the  part  of  wise  parents  to  repress  these 
squibs  and  crackers  of  juvenile  contention,  and 
to  enforce  that  slowly-learned  lesson,  that  in 
this  world  one  must  often  ''pass  over"  and 
'*  put  up  with "  things  in  other  people,  being 
oneself  by  no  means  perfect.  Also  that  it  is  a 
kindness,  and  almost  a  duty,  to  let  people  think 
and  say  and  do  things  in  their  own  way 
occasionally. 

But  even  if  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Skratdj  had  ever 
thought  of  teaching  all  this  to  their  children,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  the  lesson  would  not 
have  come  with  a  good  grace  from  either  of 
them,  since  they  snapped  and  snarled  between 
themselves  as  much  or  more  than  their  children 
in  the  nursery. 

The  two  eldest  were  the  leaders  in  the  nursery 
squabbles.  Between  these,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  a 
ceaseless  war  of  words  was  waged  from  morning 
to  night.  And  as  neither  of  them  lacked  ready 
wit,  and  both  were  in  constant  practice,  the  art 
of  snapping  was  cultivated  by  them  to  the 
highest  pitch. 


LIKE    ITS    FATHER.  1 6/ 

It  began  at  breakfast,  if  not  sooner. 

"  You've  taken  my  chair." 

"It's  not  your  chair." 

*^  You  know  it's  the  one  I  like,  and  it  was  in 
my  place." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  in  your 
place?" 

"Never  mind.     I  do  know." 

"No,  you  don't." 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  Suppose  I  say  it  was  in  my  place." 

"You  can't,  for  it  wasn't." 

"I  can,  if  I  like." 

"  Well,  was  it .?  " 

"I  sha'n't  tell  you." 

"  Ah  !  that  shows  it  wasn't." 

"No,  it  doesn't." 

"Yes,  it  does." 

Etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

The  direction  of  their  daily  walks  was  a 
fruitful  subject  of  difference  of  opinion. 

"Let's  go  on  the  Common  to-day.  Nurse." 


l68  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

"Oh,  don't  let's  go  there;  we're  always  going 
on  the  Common." 

"  I'm  sure  we're  not.  We've  not  been  there 
for  ever  so  long." 

"  Oh,  what  a  story !  We  were  there  on 
Wednesday.  Let's  go  down  Gipsey  Lane. 
We  never  go  down  Gipsey  Lane." 

"  Why,  we're  always  going  down  Gipsey 
Lane.     And  there's  nothing  to  see  there." 

"  I  don't  care.  I  won't  go  on  the  Common, 
and  I  shall  go  and  get  Papa  to  say  we're  to  go 
down  Gipsey  Lane.    I  can  run  faster  than  you." 

"That's  very  sneaking  ;  but  I  don't  care." 

"Papa!  Papa  !     Polly's  called  me  a  sneak." 

"No,  I  didn't.  Papa." 

"You  did." 

"  No,  I  didn't.  I  only  said  it  was  sneaking 
of  you  to  say  you'd  run  faster  than  me,  and  get 
Papa  to  say  we  were  to  go  down  Gipsey  Lane." 

"  Then  you  did  call  him  sneaking,"  said  Mr. 
Skratdj.  "And  you're  a  very  naughty  ill-man- 
nered httle  girl.     You're  getting  very  trouble- 


SNEAKING.  169 

some,  Polly,  and  I  shall  have  to  send  you  to 
school,  where  you'll  be  kept  in  order.  Go 
where  your  brother  wishes  at  once." 

For  Polly  and  her  brother  had  reached  an  age 
when  it  was  convenient,  if  possible,  to  throw 
the  blame  of  all  nursery  differences  on  Polly. 
In  families  where  domestic  discipline  is  rather 
fractious  than  firm,  there  comes  a  stage  when 
the  girls  almost  invariably  go  to  the  wall,  be- 
cause they  will  stand  snubbing,  and  the  boys 
will  not.  Domestic  authority,  like  some  other 
powers,  is  apt  to  be  magnified  on  the  weaker  class. 

But  Mr.  Skratdj  would  not  always  listen  even 
to  Harry. 

"  If  you  don't  give  it  me  back  directly,  I'll 
tell  about  your  eating  the  two  magnum-bonums 
in  the  kitchen  garden  on  Sunday,"  said  Master 
Harry  on  one  occasion. 

"Tell-tale  tit! 
Your  tongue  shall  be  slit, 
And  every  dog  in  the  town  shall  have  a  little  bit," 

quoted  his  sister. 


I/O  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

*'  Ah  !  You've  called  me  a  tell-tale.  Now 
I'll  go  and  tell  Papa.  You  got  into  a  fine 
scrape  for  calling  me  names  the  other  day." 

''  Go,  then  !     I  don't  care." 

*'  You  wouldn't  like  me  to  go,  I  know/ 

"  You  daren't.     That's  what  it  is." 

"I  dare." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  going ;  but  you'll  see  what  will  be 
the  end  of  it." 

Polly,  however,  had  her  own  reasons  for  re- 
maining stolid,  and  Harry  started.  But  when 
he  reached  the  landing  he  paused.  Mr.  Skratdj 
had  especially  announced  that  morning  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed,  and  though  he  was 
a  favorite,  Harry  had  no  desire  to  invade  the 
dining-room  at  this  crisis.  So  he  returned  to 
the  nursery,  and  said  with  a  magnanimous  air, 
' ''  I  don't  want  to  get  you  into  a  scrape,  Polly. 
If  you'll  beg  my  pardon  I  won't  go." 

'*  I'm  sure  I  sha'n't,"  said  Polly,  who  was 
equally  well  informed  as  to  the  position  of 
affairs  at  head-quarters.     *'  Go,  if  you  dare." 


TELL-TALE    TIT.  I /I 

"I  won't  if  you  want  me  not,"  said  Harry, 
discreetly  waiving  the  question  of  apologies. 

"  But  Vd  rather  you  went,"  said  the  obdurate 
Polly.  "  You're  always  telling  tales.  Go  and 
tell  now,  if  you're  not  afraid." 

So  Harry  went.  But  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  he  lingered  again,  and  was  meditating 
how  to  return  with  most  credit  to  his  dig- 
nity, when  Polly's  face  appeared  through  the 
banisters,  and  Polly's  sharp  tongue  goaded 
him  on.  * 

*'  Ah !  I  see  you.  You're  stopping.  You 
daren't  go." 

"  I  dare,"  said  Harry ;  and  at  last  he  went. 

As  he  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  Mr. 
Skratdj  turned  round. 

*'  Please,  Papa  —  "  Harry  began. 

"Get  away  with  you!"  cried  Mr.  Skratdj. 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  not  to  be  disturbed 
this  morning.'*     What  an  extraor  —  " 

But  Harry  had  shut  the  door,  and  withdrawn 
precipitately. 


1/2  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

Once  outside,  he  returned  to  the  nursery  with 
dignified  steps,  and  an  air  of  apparent  satis- 
faction, saying, 

"You're  to  give  me  the  bricks,  please." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"  Why,  who  should  say  so  ?  Where  have  I 
been,  pray  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care.'* 

"  I've  been  to  Papa.     There !  " 

"  Did  he  say  I  was  to  give  up  the  bricks  ?  " 

"I've  told  you." 

"  No,  you've  not." 

"I  sha'n't  tell  you  any  more." 

"  Then  I'll  go  to  Papa  and  ask." 

"  Go  by  all  means." 

"  I  won't  if  you'll  tell  me  truly." 

"I  sha'n't  tell  you  anything.  Go  and  ask,  if 
you  dare,"  said  Harry,  only  too  glad  to  have  the 
tables  turned. 

Polly's  expedition  met  with  the  same  fate,  and 
she  attempted  to  cover  her  retreat  in  a  similar 
manner. 


MORE    THAN    A    WOUND.  173 

"Ah!  you  didn't  tell." 

*'  I  don't  believe  you  asked  Papa." 

"  Don't  you  ?     Very  well ! " 

-  Well,  did  you .?  " 

"Never  mind." 

Etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Skratdj  scolded  Mrs.  Skratdj 
for  not  keeping  the  children  in  better  order. 
And  Mrs.  Skratdj  said  it  was  quite  impossible 
to  do  so,  when  Mr.  Skratdj  spoilt  Harry  as  he 
did,  and  weakened  her  (Mrs.  Skratdj 's)  authority 
by  constant  interference. 

Difference  of  sex  gave  point  to  many  of  these 
nursery  squabbles,  as  it  so  often  does  to  do- 
mestic broils. 

"Boys  never  will  do  what  they're  asked," 
Polly  would  complain. 

"Girls  ask  such  unreasonable  things,"  was 
Harry's  retort. 

"  Not  half  so  unreasonable  as  the  things  you 
ask." 

"Ah  !  that's  a  different  thing  !    Women  have 


174  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

got  to  do  what  men  tell  them,  whether  it's 
reasonable  or  not." 

"  No,  they've  not !  "  said  Polly.  "  At  least, 
that's  only  husbands  and  wives." 

"All  women  are  inferior  animals,"  said 
Harry. 

"  Try  ordering  Mamma  to  do  what  you  want, 
and  see  !  "  said  Polly. 

"Men  have  got  to  give  orders,  and  women 
have  to  obey,"  said  Harry,  falling  back  on  the 
general  principle.  "And  when  I  get  a  wife, 
I'll  take  care  I  make  her  do  what  I  tell  her. 
But  you'll  have  to  obey  your  husband  when  you 
get  one." 

"  I  won't  have  a  husband,  and  then  I  can  do 
as  I  like." 

"Oh,  won't  you.?  You'll  try  to  get  one,  I 
know.     Girls  always  want  to  be  married." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why,"  said  Polly; 
"they  must  have  had  enough  of  men  if  they 
have  brothers." 

And    so   they   went    on,    ad  infirtiUim,    with 


SMART    SAYINGS.  1/5 

ceaseless  arguments  that  proved  nothing  and 
convinced  nobody,  and  a  continual  stream  of 
contradiction  that  just  fell  short  of  downright 
quarrelling. 

Indeed,  there  was  a  kind  of  snapping  even 
less  near  to  a  dispute  than  in  the  cases  just 
mentioned.  The  little  Skratdjs,  like  some  other 
children,  were  under  the  unfortunate  delusion 
that  it  sounds  clever  to  hear  little  boys  and 
girls  snap  each  other  up  with  smart  sayings, 
and  old  and  rather  vulgar  play  upon  words, 
such  as : 

''  I'll  give  you  a  Christmas  box.  Which  ear 
will  you  have  it  on  } " 

"I  won't  stand  it." 

"  Pray  take  a  chair." 

*'  You  shall  have  it  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  never  comes." 

And  so  if  a  visitor  kindly  began  to  talk  to 
one  of  the  children,  another  was  sure  to 
draw  near  and  "take  up"  all  the  first  child's 
answers,    with    smart    comments,    and    catches 


176  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

that   sounded   as   silly   as   they  were  tiresome 
and  impertinent. 

And  ill-mannered  as  this  was,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Skratdj  never  put  a  stop  to  it.  Indeed,  it  was 
only  a  caricature  of  what  they  did  themselves. 
But  they  often  said,  "We  can't  think  how  it  is 
the  children  are  always  squabbling !  " 


STRANGE  INFECTION.  1 7/ 


THE  SKRATDJS'  DOG  AND  THE  HOT- 
TEMPERED  GENTLEMAN. 

It  is  wonderful  how  the  state  of  mind  of  a 
whole  household  is  influenced  by  the  heads  of 
it.  Mr.  Skratdj  was  a  very  kind  master,  and 
Mrs.  Skratdj  was  a  very  kind  mistress,  and  yet 
their  servants  lived  in  a  perpetual  fever  of 
irritability  that  just  fell  short  of  discontent. 
They  jostled  each  other  on  the  back  stairs,  said 
sharp  things  in  the  pantry,  and  kept  up  a 
perennial  warfare  on  the  subject  of  the  duty  of 
the  sexes  with  the  general  man-servant.  They 
gave  warning  on  the  slightest  provocation. 

The  very  dog  was  infected  by  the  snapping 
mania.  He  was  not  a  brave  dog,  he  was  not 
a  vicious  dog,  and  no  high-breeding  sanctioned 
his  pretensions  to  arrogance.  But  like  his 
owners,  he  had  contracted  a  bad  habit,  a  trick, 


1/8  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

which  made  him  the  pest  of  all  timid  visitors, 
and  indeed  of  all  visitors  whatsoever. 

The  moment  anyone  approached  the  house, 
on  certain  occasions  when  he  was  spoken  to, 
and  often  iji  no  traceable  connection  with  any 
cause  at  all.  Snap  the  mongrel  would  rush  out, 
and  bark  in  his  little  sharp  voice  —  **  Yap  !  yap  ! 
yap ! "  If  the  visitor  made  a  stand,  he  would 
bound  away  sideways  on  his  four  little  legs ; 
but  the  moment  the  visitor  went  on  his  way 
again.  Snap  was  at  his  heels  —  "  Yap !  yap  ! 
yap  !"  He  barked  at  the  milkman,  the  butcher's 
boy,  and  the  baker,  though  he  saw  them  every 
day.  He  never  got*  used  to  the  washerwoman, 
and  she  never  got  used  to  him.  She  said  he 
"  put  her  in  mind  of  that  there  black  dog  in  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress."  He  sat  at  the  gate  in 
summer,  and  yapped  at  every  vehicle  and  every 
pedestrian  who  ventured  to  pass  on  the  high 
road.  He  never  but  once  had  the  chance  of 
barking  at  burglars;  and  then,  though  he  barked 
long  and  loud,   nobody  got  up,  for  they  said, 


snap's  way. 


179 


"It's  only  Snap's  way."  The  Skratdjs  lost  a 
silver  teapot,  a  Stilton  cheese,  and  two  electro 
christening  mugs,  on  this  occasion ;  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Skratdj  dispute  who  it  was  who  dis- 
couraged reliance  on  Snap's  warning  to  the 
present  day. 


One  Christmas  time,  a  certain  hot-tempered 
gentleman  came  to  visit  the  Skratdjs.  A  tall, 
sandy,  energetic  young  man,  who  carried  his 
own  bag  from  the  railway.  The  bag  had  been 
crammed  rather  than  packed,  after  the  wont  of 


l80  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

bachelors ;  and  you  could  see  where  the  heel  of 
a ,  boot  distended  the  leather,  and  where  the 
bottle  of  shaving-cream  lay. 

As  he  came  up  to  the  house,  out  came  Snap 
as  usual  —  "  Yap  !  yap  !  yap  !  "  Now  the  gentle- 
man was  very  fond  of  dogs,  and  had  borne  this 
greeting  some  dozen  of  times  from  Snap,  who 
for  his  part  knew  the  visitor  quite  as  well  as 
the  washerwoman,  and  rather  better  than  the 
butcher  s  boy.  The  gentleman  had  good,  sen- 
sible, well-behaved  dogs  of  his  own,  and  was 
greatly  disgusted  with  Snap's  conduct.  Never- 
theless he  spoke  friendly  to  him ;  and  Snap, 
who  had  had  many  a  bit  from  his  plate,  could 
not  help  stopping  for  a  minute  to  lick  his  hand. 
But  no  sooner  did  the  gentleman  proceed  on 
his  way,  than  Snap  flew  at  his  heels  in  the 
usual  fashion  — 

«  Yap  !  Yap  !  Yap  ! " 

On  which  the  gentleman  —  being  hot-tempered, 
aiad  one  of  those  people  with  whom  it  is  (as  they 


(i8i) 


1 82  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

say)  a  word  and  a  blow,  and  the  blow  first  — 
made  a  dash  at  Snap,  and  Snap  taking  to  his 
heels,  the  gentleman  flung  his  carpet-bag  after 
him.  The  bottle  of  shaving-cream  hit  upon  a 
stone  and  was  smashed.  The  heel  of  the  boot 
caught  Snap  on  the  back,  and  sent  him  squeal- 
ing to  the  kitchen.  And  he  never  barked  at 
that  gentleman  again. 

If  the  gentleman  disapproved  of  Snap's  con- 
duct, he  still  less  liked  the  continual  snapping 
of  the  Skratdj  family  themselves.  He  was  an 
old  friend  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Skratdj,  however, 
and  knew  that  they  were  really  happy  together, 
and  that  it  was  only  a  bad  habit  which  made 
them  constantly  contradict  each  other.  It  was 
in  allusion  to  their  real  affection  for  each  other, 
and  their  perpetual  disputing,  that  he  called 
them  the  "  Snapping  Turtles." 

When  the  war  of  words  waxed  hottest  at  the 
dinner-table  between  his  host  and  hostess,  he 
would  drive  his  hands  through  his  shock  of 
sandy  hair,  and  say,  with  a  comical  glance  out 


SNAPPING   TURTLES.  1 83 

of  his  umber  eyes,  "  Don't  flirt,  my  friends.  It 
makes  a  bachelor  feel  awkward." 

And  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Skratdj  could  help 
laughing. 

With  the  little  Skratdj  s  his  measures  were 
more  vigorous.  He  was  very  fond  of  children, 
and  a  good  friend  to  them.  He  grudged  no 
time  or  trouble  to  help  them  in  their  games  and 
projects,  but  he  would  not  tolerate  their  snap- 
ping up  each  other's  words  in  his  presence. 
He  was  much  more  truly  kind  than  many 
visitors,  who  think  it  polite  to  smile  at  the 
sauciness  and  forwardness  which  ignorant  van- 
ity leads  children  so  often  to  "  show  off "  before 
strangers.  These  civil  acquaintances  only 
abuse  both  children  and  parents  behind  their 
backs,  for  the  very  bad  habits  which  they  help 
to  encourage. 

The  hot-tempered  gentleman's  treatment  of 
his  young  friends  was  very  different.  One  day 
he  was  talking  to  Polly,  and  making  some  kind 
inquiries   about  her  lessons,  to  which  she  was 


184  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

replying  in  a  quiet  and  sensible  fashion,  when 
up  came  Master  Harry,  and  began  to  display 
his  wit  by  comments  on  the  conversation,  and 
by  snapping  at  and  contradicting  his  sister's 
remarks,  to  which  she  retorted  ;  and  the  usual 
snap-dialogue  went  on  as  usual. 

"Then  you  like  music,"  said  the  hot-tem- 
pered gentleman. 

"  Yes,  I  like  it  very  much,"  said  Polly. 

"Oh,  do  you.?"  Harry  broke  in.  "Then 
what  are  you  always  crying  over  it  for  ? " 

"I'm  not  always  crying  over  it." 

"Yes,  you  are." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I  only  cry  sometimes,  when  I 
stick  fast." 

"  Your  music  must  be  very  sticky,  for  you're 
always  stuck  fast." 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  said  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman. 

With  what  he  imagined  to  be  a  very  waggish 
air,  Harry  put  out  his  tongue,  and  held  it  with 
his  finger  and  thumb.     It  was  unfortunate  that 


QUI    SEME    DES    CHARDONS.  1 85 

he  had  not  time  to  draw  it  in  again  before  the 
hot-tempered  gentleman  gave  him  a  stinging 
box  on  the  ear,  which  brought  his  teeth  rather 
sharply  together  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  which 
was  bitten  in  consequence. 

"  It's  no  use  speaking^''  said  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman,  driving  his  hands  through  his  hair. 

Children  are  like  dogs,  they  are  very  good 
judges  of  their  real  friends.  Harry  did  not  like 
•the  hot-tempered  gentleman  a  bit  the  less 
because  he  was  obliged  to  respect  and  obey 
him ;  and  all  the  children  welcomed  him  bois- 
terously when  he  arrived  that  Christmas  which 
we  have  spoken  of  in  connection  with  his  attack 
on  Snap. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  Christmas  Eve  that 
the  china  punch  bowl  was  broken.  Mr.  Skratdj 
had  a  warm  dispute  with  Mrs.  Skratdj  as  to 
whether  it  had  been  kept  in  a  safe  place ;  after 
which  both  had  a  brisk  encounter  with  the 
housemaid,  who  did  not  know  how  it  happened ; 


1 86  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

and  she,  flouncing  down  the  back  passage, 
kicked  Snap ;  who  forthwith  flew  at  the  gar- 
dener as  he  was  bringing  in  the  horse-radish  for 
the  beef;  who  stepping  backwards  trode  upon 
the  cat ;  who  spit  and  swore,  and  went  up  the 
pump  with  her  tail  as  big  as  a  fox's  brush. 

To  avoid  this  domestic  scene,  the  hot-tem- 
pered gentleman  withdrew  to  the  breakfast-room 
and  took  up  a  newspaper.  By-and-by,  Harry 
and  Polly  came  in,  and  they  were  soon  snapping 
comfortably  over  their  own  affairs  in  a  corner.  * 

The  hot-tempered  gentleman's  umber  eyes 
had  been  looking  over  the  top  of  his  newspaper 
at  them  for  some  time,  before  he  called,  '*  Harry, 
my  boy ! " 

And  Harry  came  up  to  him. 

**  Show  me  your  tongue,  Harry,"  said  he. 

"What  for.-^"  said  Harry;  "you're  not  a 
doctor." 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman  ;  and  as  Harry  saw  his  hand  moving, 
he  put  his  tongue  out  with  all  possible  haste. 


(i87) 


IQ6  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

The  hot-tempered  gentleman  sighed.  "Ah!" 
he  said  in  depressed  tones  ;  "  I  thought  so !  — 
Polly,  come  and  let  me  look  at  yours." 

Polly,  who  had  crept  up  during  this  process, 
now  put  out  hers.  But  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman  looked  gloomier  still,  and*  shook  his 
head. 

"What  is  it.?"  cried  both  the  children. 
"  What  do  you  mean  .? "  And  they  seized  the 
tips  of  their  tongues  in  their  fingers,  to  feel  for 
themselves. 

But  the  hot-tempered  gentleman  went  slowly 
out  of  the  room  without  answering;  passing  his 
hands  through  his  hair,  and  saying,  "Ah! 
Hum!"  and  nodding  with  an  air  of  grave 
foreboding. 

Just  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  he  turned 
back,  and  put  his  head  into  the  room.  "  Have 
you  ever  noticed  that  your  tongues  are  growing 
pointed  }  "  he  asked. 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  children  with  alarm.  "  Are 
they?" 


\ 

RECUEILLE    DES    EPINES.  1 89 

**If  ever  you  find  them  becoming  forked," 
said  the  gentleman  in  solemn  tones,  "let  me 
know." 

With  which  he  departed,  gravely  shaking  his 
head. 

In  the  afternoon  the  children  attacked  him 
again. 

''Do  tell  us  what's  the  matter  with  our 
tongues." 

"  You  were  snapping  and  squabbling  just  as 
usual  this  morning,"  said  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman. 

"Well,  we  forgot,"  said  Polly.  "We  don't 
mean  anything,  you  know.  But  never  mind 
that  now,  please.  Tell  us  about  our  tongues. 
What  is  going  to  happen  to  them  ? " 

"I'm  very  much  afraid,"  said  the  hot-tem- 
pered gentleman,  in  solemn  measured  tones, 
"that  you  are  both  of  you  —  fast  —  going  —  to 
—  the—" 

"Dogs.?"  suggested  Harry,  who  was  learned 
in  cant  expressions. 


190  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

"Dogs!"  said  the  hot-tempered  gentleman, 
driving  his  hands  through  his  hair.  "Bless 
your  life,  no  !  Nothing  half  so  pleasant !  (That 
is,  unless  all  dogs  were  like  Snap,  which  merci- 
fully they  are  not.)  No,  my  sad  fear  is,  that 
you  are  both  of  you  —  rapidly — going  —  to  the 
Snap-Dragons .' " 

And  not  another  word  would  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman  say  on  the  subject. 


FAMILY   JARS.  .         I9I 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  hours  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Skratdj  recovered  their  equanimity.  The  punch 
was  brewed  in  a  jug,  and  tasted  quite  as  good 
as  usual.  The  evening  was  very  hvely.  There 
were  a  Christmas  tree,  Yule  cakes,  log,  and 
candles,  furmety,  and  snap-dragon  after  supper. 
When  the  company  was  tired  of  the  tree,  and 
had  gained  an  appetite  by  the  hard  exercise 
of  stretching  to  high  branches,  blowing  out 
"dangerous"  tapers,  and  cutting  ribbon  and 
pack-thread  in  all  directions,  supper  came,  with 
its  welcome  cakes  and  furmety  and  punch. 
And  when  furmety  somewhat  palled  upon  the 
taste  (and  it  must  be  admitted  to  boast  more 
sentiment  than  flavor  as  a  Christmas  dish), 
the  Yule  candles  were  blown  out  and  both  the 
spirits  and  the  palates  of  the  party  were  stimu- 


192  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

lated  by  the  mysterious  and  pungent  pleasures 
of  snap-dragon. 

Then,  as  the  hot-tempered  gentleman  warmed 
his  coat-tails  at  the  Yule-log,  a  grim  smile  stole 
over  his  features  as  he  listened  to  the  sounds 
in  the  room.  In  the  darkness  the  blue  flames 
leaped  and  danced,  the  raisins  were  snapped 
and  snatched  from  hand  to  hand,  scattering 
fragments  of  flame  hither  and  thither.  The 
children  shouted  as  the  fiery  sweetmeats  burnt 
away  the  mawkish  taste  of  the  furmety.  Mr. 
Skratdj  *  cried  that  they  were  spoiling  the 
carpet ;  Mrs.  Skratdj  complained  that  he  had 
spilled  some  brandy  on  her  dress.  Mr.  Skratdj 
retorted  that  she  should  not  wear  dresses  so 
susceptible  of  damage  in  the  family  circle. 
Mrs.  Skratdj  recalled  an  old  speech  of  Mr. 
Skratdj  on  the  subject  of  wearing  one's  nice 
things  for  the  benefit  of  one's  family,  and  not 
reserving  them  for  visitors.  Mr.  Skratdj  re- 
membered that  Mrs.  Skratdj 's  excuse  for  buying 
that  particular  dress  when  she  did  not  need  it, 


THE    FAMILY    CIRCLE. 


193 


was  her  intention  of  keeping  it  for  the  next 
year.  The  children  disputed  as  to  the  credit 
for  courage  and  the  amount  of  raisins  due  to 
each.  Snap  barked  furiously  at  the  flames ; 
and  the  maids  hustled  each  other  for  good 
places    in   the    doorway,    and   would    not    have 


allowed   the  man-servant  to  see  at  all,  but  he 
looked  over  their  heads. 

''  St !  St !  At  it !  At  it !  "  chuckled  the  hot- 
tempered  gentleman  in  undertones.  And  when 
he  said  this,  it  seemed  as  if  the  voices  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Skratdj  rose  higher  in  matrimonial 
repartee,  and  the  children's  squabbles  became 


194  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

louder,  and  the  dog  yelped  as  if  he  were  mad, 
and  the  maids'  contest  was  sharper ;  whilst  the 
snap-dragon  flames  leaped  up  and  up,  and 
blue  fire  flew  about  the  room  like  foam. 

At  last  the  raisins  were  finished,  the  flames 
were  all  but  out,  and  the  company  withdrew  to 
the  drawing-room.      Only  Harry  lingered. 

"  Come  along,  Harry,"  said  the  hot-tempered 
gentleman. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Harry. 

"  You  had  better  come,"  said  the  gentleman. 

*' Why  .?"  said  Harry. 

"There's  nothing  to  stop  for.  The  raisins 
are  eaten,  the  brandy  is  burnt  out  —  " 

"  No,  it's  not,"  said  Harry. 

"  Well,  almost.  It  would  be  better  if  it  were 
quite  out.  Now  come.  It's  dangerous  for  a 
boy  like  you  to  be  alone  with  the  Snap-Dragons 
to-night." 

"  Fiddle-sticks  !  "  said  Harry. 

"  Go  your  own  way,  then  !  "  said  the  hot-tem- 
pered gentleman  ;  and  he  bounced  out  of  the 
room,  and  Harry  was  left  alone. 


MAN  ANGRER  OFTE  SIN  TALE.      1 95 


DANCING   WITH  THE   DRAGONS. 

He  crept  up  to  the  table,  where  one  little 
pale  blue  flame  flickered  in  the  snap-dragon 
dish. 

"What  a  pity  it  should  go  out !  "  said  Harry. 
At  this  moment  the  brandy  bottle  on  the  side- 
board caught  his  eye, 

"  Just  a  little  more,"  murmured  Harry  to 
himself ;  and  he  uncorked  the  bottle,  and 
poured  a  little  brandy  on  to  the  flame. 

Now  of  course,  as  soon  as  the  brandy  touched 
the  fire,  all  the  brandy  in  the  bottle  blazed  up 
at  once,  and  the  bottle  split  to  pieces ;  and  it 
was  very  fortunate  for  Harry  that  he  did  not 
get  seriously  hurt.  A  little  of  the  hot  brandy 
did  get  into  his  eyes,  and  made  them  smart,  so 
that  he  had  to  shut  them  for  a  few  seconds. 


196 


SNAP-DRAGONS. 


BUT  when  he  opened 
them  again,  what  a  sight 
he  saw !  All  over  the 
room  the  blue  flames 
leaped  and  danced  as 
they  had  leaped  and 
danced  in  the  soup-plate 
with  the  raisins.  And 
Harry  saw  that  each 
successive  flame  was  the 
fold  in  the  long  body  of 
a  bright  blue  Dragon, 
which  moved  like  the 
body  of  a  snake.  And  the  room  was  full  of 
these  Dragons.  In  the  face  they  were  like  the 
dragons  one  sees  made  of  very  old  blue  and 
white  china ;  and  they  had  forked  tongues,  like 
the  tongues  of  serpents.  They  were  most 
beautiful  in  color,  being  sky-blue.  Lobsters 
who  have  just  changed  their  coats  are  very 
handsome,  but  the  violet  and  indigo  of  a  lob- 
ster's coat  is  nothing  to  the  brilliant  sky-blue 
of  a  Snap-Dragon. 


MEN    SIELDEN    SIN    TANSHED.  IQ/ 

How  they  leaped  about !  They  were  for  ever 
leaping  over  each  other^  like  seals  at  play.  But 
if  it  was  *'play  "  at  all  with  them,  it  was  of  a 
very  rough  kind  ;  for  as  they  jumped,  they 
snapped  and  barked  at  each  other,  and  their 
barking  was  like  that  of  the  barking  Gnu  in  the 
Zoological  Gardens ;  and  from  time  to  time 
they  tore  the  hair  out  of  each  other's  heads 
with  their  claws,  and  scattered  it  about  the 
floor.  And  as  it  dropped  it  was  like  the  flecks 
of  flame  people  shake  from  their  fingers  when 
they  are  eating  snap-dragon  raisins. 

Harry  stood  aghast. 

"  What  fun  !  "  said  a  voice  close  by  him ;  and 
he  saw  that  one  of  the  Dragons  was  lying  near, 
and  not  joining  in  the  game.  He  had  lost  one 
of  the  forks  of  his  tongue  by  accident,  and 
could  not  bark  for  awhile. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  it  funny,"  said  Harry, 
"I  don't." 

"That's  right.  Snap  away!"  sneered  the 
Dragon.  "  You're  a  perfect  treasure.  They'll 
take  you  in  with  them  the  third  round." 


198  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

"  Not  those  creatures  ?  "  cried  Harry. 

"Yes,  those  creatures.  And  if  I  hadn't  lost 
my  bark,  I'd  be  the  first  to  lead  you  off,"  said 
the  Dragon.  *'0h,  the  game  will  exactly  suit 
you." 

"What  is  it,  please .''"  Harry  asked. 

"  You'd  better  not  say  *  please '  to  the 
others,"  said  the  Dragon,  "if  you  don't  want 
to  have  all  your  hair  pulled  out.  The  game  is 
this.  You  have  always  to  be  jumping  over 
somebody  else,  and  you  must  either  talk  or 
bark.  If  anybody  speaks  to  you,  you  must 
snap  in  return.  I  need  not  explain  what 
snapping  is.  You  know.  If  anyone  by  acci- 
dent gives  a  civil  answer,  a  claw-full  of  hair  is 
torn  out  of  his  head  to  stimulate  his  brain. 
Nothing  can  be  funnier." 

"I  dare  say  it  suits  you  capitally,"  said 
Harry;  "but  I'm  sure  we  shouldn't  like  it.  I 
mean  men  and  women  and  children.  It 
wouldn't   do   for   us   at   all." 

"  Wouldn't   it } "    said   the    Dragon.      "  You 


(199) 


200  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

# 

don't  know  how  many  human  beings  dance 
with  dragons  on  Christmas  Eve.  If  we  are 
kept  going  in  a  house  till  after  midnight,  we 
can  pull  people  out  of  their  beds,  and  take 
them  to  dance  in  Vesuvius." 

"Vesuvius  !  "  cried  Harry. 

"  Yes,  Vesuvius.  We  come  from  Italy  origi- 
nally, you  know.  Our  skins  are  the  color  of 
the  Bay  of  Naples.  We  live  on  dried  grapes 
and  ardent  spirits.  We  have  glorious  fun  in 
the  mountain  sometimes.  Oh  !  what  snapping, 
and  scratching,  and  tearing  !  Delicious  !  There 
are  times  when  the  squabbling  becomes  too 
great,  and  Mother  Mountain  won't  stand  it, 
and  spits  us  all  out,  and  throws  cinders  after 
us.  But  this  is  only  at  times.  We  had  a 
charming  meeting  last  year.  So  many  human 
beings,  and  how  they  can  snap !  It  was  a 
choice  party.  So  very  select.  We  always 
have  plenty  of  saucy  children,  and  servants. 
Husbands  and  wives  too,  and  quite  as  many  of 
the   former   as    the    latter,    if    not    more.     But 


GOOD  WITS  WILL  STILL  BE  JANGLING.   201 

besides  these,  we  had  two  vestry-men,  a  coun- 
try post-master,  who  devoted  his  talents  to 
insulting  the  public  instead  of  to  learning  the 
postal  regulations,  three  cabmen  and  two 
'fares,'  two  young  shop-girls  from  a  Berlin 
wool  shop  in  a  town  where  there  was  no 
competition,  four  commercial  travellers,  six 
landladies,  six  Old  Bailey  lawyers,  several 
widows  from  almshouses,  seven  single  gentle- 
men and  nine  cats,  who  swore  at  everything; 
a  dozen  sulphur-colored  screaming  cockatoos ; 
a  lot  of  street  children  from  a  town ;  a  pack  of 
mongrel  curs  from  the  colonies,  who  snapped 
at  the  human  beings'  heels,  and  five  elderly 
ladies  in  their  Sunday  bonnets  with  Prayer- 
books,  who  had  been  fighting  for  good  seats  in 
church." 

**  Dear  me  !  "  said  Harry. 

**  If  you  can  find  nothing  sharper  to  say  than 
*Dear  me,'"  said  the  Dragon,  "you  will  fare 
badly,  I  can  tell  you.  Why,  I  thought  you'd  a 
sharp  tongue,  but  it's  not   forked    yet,   I   see. 


202  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

Here  they  are,  however.  Off  with  you  !  And 
if  you  value  your  curls  —  Snap !  " 

And  before  Harry  could  reply,  the  Snap- 
Dragons  came  on  on  their  third  round,  and 
as  they  passed  they  swept  Harry  with  them. 

He  shuddered  as  he  looked  at  his  com- 
panions. They  were  as  transparent  as  shrimps, 
but  of  this  lovely  cerulean  blue.  And  as  they 
leaped  they  barked  —  "  Howf  !  Howf  !  "  —  like 
barking  Gnus  ;  and  when  they  leaped  Harry 
had  to  leap  with  them.  Besides  barking,  they 
snapped  and  wrangled  with  each  other ;  and 
in  this  Harry,  must  join  also. 

"  Pleasant,  isn't  it  ? "  said  one  of  the  blue 
Dragons. 

"  Not  at  all,"  snapped  Harry. 

"That's  your  bad  taste,"  snapped  the  blue 
Dragon. 

"  No,  it's  not !  "  snapped  Harry. 

"Then  it's  pride  and  perverseness.  You 
want  your  hair  combing." 

"  Oh,  please  don't ! "  shrieked  Harry,  forget- 


THE    DRAGON    AND    HIS    WRATH.  203 

ting  himself.  On  which  the  Dragon  clawed  a 
handful  of  hair  out  of  his  head,  and  Harry 
screamed,  and  the  blue  Dragons  barked  and 
danced. 

"That  made  your  hair  curl,  didn't  it.?" 
asked  another  Dragon,  leaping  over  Harry. 

"That's  no  business  of  yours,"  Harry 
snapped,  as  well  as  he  could  for  crying. 

"  It's  more  my  pleasure  than  business," 
retorted   the   Dragon. 

"  Keep  it  to  yourself,  then,"  snapped  Harry. 

"  I  mean  to  share  it  with  you,  when  I  get 
hold  of  your  hair,"   snapped  the  Dragon. 

"  Wait  till  you  get  the  chance,"  Harry 
snapped,  with  desperate  presence  of  mind. 

"Do  you  know  whom  you're  talking  to.?" 
roared  the  Dragon  ;  and  he  opened  his  mouth 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  shot  out  his  forked  tongue 
in  Harry's  face  ;  and  the  boy  was  so  frightened 
that  he  forgot  to  snap,  and  cried  piteously, 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  please  don't !  " 

On  which  the  blue  Dragon   clawed  another 


204        '  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

handful  of  hair  out  of  his  head,  and  all  the 
Dragons  barked  as  before. 

How  long  the  dreadful  game  went  on  Harry 
never  exactly  knew.  Well  practised  as  he  was 
in  snapping  in  the  nursery,  he  often  failed  to 
think  of  a  retort,  and  paid  for  his  unreadiness 
by  the  loss  of  his  hair.  Oh,  how  foolish  and 
wearisome  all  this  rudeness  and  snapping  now 
seemed  to  him !  But  on  he  had  to  go,  wonder- 
ing all  the  time  how  near  it  was  to  twelve 
o'clock,  and  whether  the  Snap-Dragons  would 
stay  till  midnight  and  take  him  with  them  to 
Vesuvius. 

At  last,  to  his  joy,  it  became  evident  that  the 
brandy  was  coming  to  an  end.  The  Dragons 
moved  slower,  they  could  not  leap  so  high,  and 
at  last  one  after  another  they  began  to  go  out. 

"  Oh,  if  they  only  all  of  them  get  away  before 
twelve  !  "  thought  poor  Harry. 

At  last  there  was  only  one.  He  and  Harry 
jumped  about  and  snapped  and  barked,  and 
Harry  was  thinking  with  joy  that  he  was  the 


THE   TIME    AND    THE    HOUR.  205 

last,  when  the  clock  in  the  hall  gave  that  whir- 
ring sound  which  some  clocks  do  before  they 
strike,   as  if  it  were  clearing  its  throat. 

''  Oh,  please  go  !  "  screamed  Harry  in  despair. 

The  blue  Dragon  leaped  up,  and  took  such  a 
clawful  of  hair  out  of  the  boy's  head,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  part  of  the  skin  went  too.  But 
that  leap  was  his  last.  He  went  out  at  once, 
vanishing  before  the  first  stroke  of  twelve. 
And  Harry  was  left  on  his  face  on  the  floor  in 
the  darkness. 


206 


SNAP-DRAGONS. 


CONCLUSION. 


v7*r  HEN  his  friends  found  him  there  was 
blood  on  his  forehead.  Harry  thought  it  was 
where  the  Dragon  had  clawed  him,  but  they 
said  it  was  a  cut  from  a  fragment  of  the  broken 
brandy  bottle.  The  Dragons  had  disappeared 
as  completely  as  the  brandy. 

Harry  was  cured  of  snapping.  He  had  had 
quite  enough  of  it  for  a  lifetime,  and  the  catch- 
contradictions  of  the  household  now  made  him 
shudder.  Polly  had  not  had  the  benefit  of  his 
experiences,  and  yet  she  improved  also. 


TOO    OLD    TO    LEARN.  20/ 

In  the  first  place,  snapping,  like  other  kinds 
of  quarrelling,  requires  two  parties  to  it,  and 
Harry  would  never  be  a  party  to  snapping  any 
more.  And  when  he  gave  civil  and  kind  an- 
swers to  Polly's  smart  speeches,  she  felt 
ashamed  of   herself,  and  did  not  repeat  them. 

In  the  second  place,  she  heard  about  the 
Snap-Dragons.  Harry  told  all  about  it  to  her 
and  to  the  hot-tempered  gentleman. 

"Now  do  you  think  it's  true.?"  Polly  asked 
the  hot-tempered  gentleman. 

"  Hum  !  Ha  !  "  said  he,  driving  his  hands 
through  his  hair.  "  You  know  I  warned  you, 
you  were  going  to  the  Snap-Dragons." 

Harry  and  Polly  snubbed  "the  little  ones" 
when  they  snapped,  and  utterly  discountenanced 
snapping  in  the  nursery.  The  example  and 
admonitions  of  elder  children  are  a  powerful 
instrument  of  nursery  discipline,  and  before 
long  there  was  not  a  "  sharp  tongue  "  amongst 
all  the  little  Skratdjs. 


208  SNAP-DRAGONS. 

But  I  doubt  if  the  parents  ever  were  cured. 
I  don't  know  if  they  heard  the  story.  Besides, 
bad  habits  are  not  easily  cured  when  one  is  old. 

I  fear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Skratdj  have  yet  got  to 
dance  with  the  Dragons. 


OLD   FATHER  CHRISTMAS. 

An  OLD-FASHioNi|D  Tale  of  the  Young  Days  of  a 
Grumpy  Old  Godfather. 


3j«« 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Can  you  fancy,  young  people,"  said  God- 
father Garbel,  winking  with  his  prominent  eyes, 
and  moving  his  feet  backwards  and  forwards 
in  his  square  shoes,  so  that  you  could  hear  the 
squeak-leather  half  a  room  off  — "  can  you 
fancy  my  having  been  a  very  little  boy,  and  hav- 
ing a  godmother  ?  But  I  had,  and  she  sent  me 
presents  on  my  birthdays  too.  And  young 
people  did  not  get  presents  when  I  was  a  child 
as  they  get  them  now.  Gritmph  !  We  had  not 
half  so  many  toys  as  you  have,  but  we  kept 
(209) 


2IO  OLD    FATHER   CHRISTMAS. 

them  twice  as  long.  I  think  we  were  fonder  of 
them  too,  though  they  were  neither  so  hand- 
some, nor  so  expensive  as  these  new-fangled 
affairs  you  are  always  breaking  about  the  house. 
Grumph! 

"  You  see,  middle-class  folk  were  more  saving 
then.  My  mother  turned  and  dyed  her  dresses, 
and  when  she  had  done  with  them,  the  servant 
was  very  glad  to  have  them ;  but,  bless  me  ! 
your  mother's  maids  dress  so  much  finer  than 
their  mistress,  I  do  not  think  they  would  say 
*  thank  you '  for  her  best  Sunday  silk.  The 
bustle's  the  wrong  shape.      Gnimph  ! 

"  What's  that  you  are  laughing  at,  little  miss  } 
It's  pannier^  is  it }  Well,  well,  bustle  or  pan- 
nier, call  it  what  you  like  ;  but  only  donkeys 
wore  panniers  in  my  young  days,  and  many's 
the  ride  I've  had  in  them. 

"  Now  as  I  say,  my  relations  and  friends 
thought  twice  before  they  pulled  out  five  shil- 
lings in  a  toy  shop,  but  they  didn't  forget  me, 
all  the  same. 


BIRTHDAY    GIFTS. 


211 


**  On  my  eighth  birthday  my  mother  gave  me 
a  bright  blue  comforter  of  her  own  knitting. 
"  My  httle  sister  gave  me  a  ball.     My  mother 


had  cut  out  the  divisions  from  various  bits  in 
the  rag  bag,  and  my  sister  had  done  some  of  the 
seaming.     It  was  stuffed  with  bran,  and  had  a 


212  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

cork  inside  which  had  broken  from  old  age,  and 
would  no  longer  fit  the  pickle  jar  it  belonged  to. 
This  made  the  ball  bound  when  we  played 
'  prisoner's  base.' 

'*  My  father  gave  me  the  broken  driving-whip 
that  had  lost  the  lash,  and  an  old  pair  of  his 
gloves,  to  play  coachman  with ;  these  I  had 
long  wished  for,  since  next  to  sailing  in  a  ship,  in 
my  ideas,  came  the  honor  and  glory  of  driving  a 
coach. 

"My  whole  soul,  I  must  tell  you,  was  set 
upon  being  a  sailor.  In  those  days  I  had 
rather  put  to  sea  once  on  Farmer  Fodder's 
duck-pond  than  ride  twice  atop  of  his  hay- 
wagon  ;  and  between  the  smell  of  hay  and  the 
softness  of  it,  and  the  height  you  are  up  above 
other  folk,  and  the  danger  of  tumbling  off  if  you 
don't  look  out  —  for  hay  is  elastic  as  well  as 
soft — you  don't  easily  beat  a  ride  on  a  hay- 
wagon  for  pleasure.  But  as  I  say,  I'd  rather 
put  to  sea  on  the  duck-pond,  though  the  best 
craft  I  could  borrow  was  the  pigstye-door,  and  a 


THE    MURMUR   OF    THE    SHELL.  21 3 

pole  to  punt  with,  and  the  village  boys  jeering 
when  I  got  aground,  which  was  most  of  the 
time  —  besides  the  duck-pond  never  having  a 
wave  on  it  worth  the  name,  punt  as  you  would, 
and  so  shallow  you  could  not  have  got  drowned 
in  it  to  save  your  life. 

**  You're  laughing  now,  little  master,  are  you  ? 
But  let  me  tell  you  that  drowning's  the  death 
for  a  sailor,  whatever  you  may  think.  So  I've 
always  maintained,  and  have  given  every  navi- 
gable sea  in  the  known  world  a  chance,  though 
here  I  am  after  all,  laid  up  in  arm-chairs  and 
feather-beds,  to  wait  for  bronchitis  or  some 
other  slow  poison.     Griimph  ! 

"  Well,  we  must  all  go  as  we're  called,  sailors 
or  landsmen,  and  as  I  was  saying,  if  I  was  never 
to  sail  a  ship,  I  would  have  liked  to  drive  a 
coach.  A  mail  coach,  serving  His  Majesty  (Her 
Majesty  now  God  bless  her !)  carrying  the  Royal 
Arms,  and  bound  to  go,  rough  weather  and  fair. 
Many's  the  time  I've  done  it  (in  play  you  under- 
stand) with  that  whip  and  those  gloves.       Dear ! 


214  ^LD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

dear !  The  pains  I  took  to  teach  my  sister  Patty 
to  be  a  highwayman,  and  jump  out  on  me  from 
the  drying  ground  hedge  in  the  dusk  with  a 
'  Stand  and  dehver ! '  which  she  couldn't  get  out 
of  her  throat  for  fright,  and  wouldn't  jump  hard 
enough  for  fear  of  hurting  me. 

"The  whip  and  the  gloves  gave  me  joy,  I  can 
tell  you ;  but  there  was  more  to  come. 

"  Kitty  the  servant  gave  me  a  shell  that  she 
had  had  by  her  for  years.  How  I  had  coveted 
that  shell !  It  had  this  remarkable  property  : 
when  you  put  it  to  your  ear  you  could  hear  the 
roaring  of  the  sea.  I  had  never  seen  the  sea, 
but  Kitty  was  born  in  a  fisherman's  cottage, 
and  many  an  hour  have  I  sat  by  the  kitchen 
fire  whilst  she  told  me  strange  stories  of  the 
mighty  ocean,  and  ever  and  anon  she  would 
snatch  the  shell  from  the  mantlepiece  and  clap 
it  to  my  ear,  crying,  '  There  child,  you  couldn't 
hear  it  plainer  than  that.     It's  the  very  moral ! ' 

"  When  Kitty  gave  me  that  shell  for  my  very 
own  I  felt  that  life  had  little  more  to  offer.     I 


GUY    FAWKES.  21  5 

held  it  to  every  ear  in  the  house,  including  the 
cat's ;  and,  seeing  Dick  the  sexton's  son  go  by 
with  an  armful  of  straw  to  stuff  Guy  Fawkes, 
I  ran  out,  and  in  my  anxiety  to  make  him  share 
the  treat,  and  learn  what  the  sea  is  like,  I 
clapped  the  shell  to  his  ear  so  smartly  and 
unexpectedly,  that  he,  thinking  me  to  have 
struck  him,  knocked  me  down  then  and  there 
with  his  bundle  of  straw.  When  he  understood 
the  rights  of  the  case,  he  begged  my  pardon 
handsomely,  and  gave  me  two  whole  treacle 
sticks  and  part  of  a  third  out  of  his  breeches' 
pocket,  in  return  for  which  I  forgave  him  freely, 
and  promised  to  let  him  hear  the  sea  roar  on 
every  Saturday  half-holiday  till  farther  notice. 

*'And,  speaking  of  Dick  and  the  straw 
reminds  me  that  my  birthday  falls  on  the  fifth 
of  November.  From  this  it  came  about  that  I 
always  had  to  bear  a  good  many  jokes  about 
being  burnt  as  a  Guy  Fawkes ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  was  allowed  to  make  a  small 
bonfire  of  my  own,  and  to  have  eight  potatoes 


2l6  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

to  roast  therein,  and  eight-pennyworth  of 
crackers  to  let  off  in  the  evening.  A  potato 
and  a  pennyworth  of  crackers  for  every  year  of 
my  life. 

"  On  this  eighth  birthday,  having  got  all  the 
above-named  gifts,  I  cried,  in  the  fulness  of  my 
heart,  '  There  never  was  such  a  day ! '  And 
yet  there  was  more  to  come,  for  the  evening 
coach  brought  me  a  parcel,  and  the  parcel  was 
my  godmother's  picture-book. 

**  My  godmother  was  a  gentlewoman  of  small 
means ;  but  she  was  accomplished.  She  could 
make  very  spirited  sketches,  and  knew  how  to 
color  them  after  they  were  outlined  and  shaded 
in  Indian  ink.  She  had  a  pleasant  talent  for 
versifying.  She  was  very  industrious.  I  have 
it  from  her  own  lips  that  she  copied  the  figures 
in  my  picture-book  from  prints  in  several  dif- 
ferent houses  at  which  she  visited.  They  were 
fancy  portraits  of  characters,  most  of  which 
were  familiar  to  my  mind.  There  were  Guy 
Fawkes,   Punch,   his   then   Majesty  the   King, 


GODMOTHERS  PICTURE-BOOK,       21/ 

Bogy,  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  the  Clerk  of  the 
Weather  Office,  a  Dunce,  and  Old  Father 
Christmas.  Beneath  each  sketch  was  a  stanza 
of  my  godmother's  own  composing. 

"  My  godmother  was  very  ingenious.  She 
had  been  mainly  guided  in  her  choice  of  these 
characters  by  the  prints  she  happened  to  meet 
with,  as  she  did  not  trust  herself  to  design  a 
figure.  But  if  she  could  not  get  exactly  what 
she  wanted,  she  had  a  clever  knack  of  tracing 
an  outline  of  the  attitude  from  some  engraving, 
and  altering  the  figure  to  suit  her  purpose  in 
the  finished  sketch.  She  was  the  soul  of  truth- 
fulness, and  the  notes  she  added  to  the  index 
of  contents  in  my  picture-book  spoke  at  once 
for  her  honesty  in  avowing  obligations,  and  her 
ingenuity  in  availing  herself  of  opportunities. 

"They  ran  thus  :  — 

No.  I .  —  Guy  Fawkes.  Outlined  from  a  figure  of  a 
warehouseman  rolling  a  sherry  cask  into  Mr.  Rudd's  wine 
vaults.  I  added  the  hat,  cloak,  and  boots  in  the  finished 
drawing. 


2l8  OLD    FATHER   CHRISTMAS. 

No.  2.  —  Punch.     I  sketched  him  from  the  life. 

No.  3.  —  His  Most  Gracious  Majesty  the  King. 
On  a  quart  jug  bought  in  Cheapside. 

No.  4.  —  Bogy,  with  bad  boys  in  the  bag  on  his  back. 
Outlined  from  Christian  bending  under  his  burden,  in  my 
mother's  old  copy  of  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress."  The  face 
from  Giant  Despair. 

No.  5  and  No.  6.  —  The  Man  in  the  Moon,  and  The 
Clerk  of  the  Weather  Office.  From  a  book  of 
caricatures  belonging^ to  Dr.  James. 

No.  7.  —  A  Dunce.  From  a  steel  engraving  framed  in 
rosewood  that  hangs  in  my  Uncle  Wilkinson's  parlor. 

No.  8.  —  Old  Father  Christmas.  From  a  German 
book  at  Lady  Littleham's. 


CHAPTER   11. 


"My   sister   Patty   was   six   years   old.     We 

loved  each  other  dearly.     The  picture-book  was 

almost  as  much  hers  as  mine.     We  sat  so  long 

together  on  one  big  footstool  by  the  fire,  with 

our  arms  round  each  other,  and  the  book  resting 

on  our  knees,  that  Kitty  called  down  blessings 
(219) 


220  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

on  my  godmother's  head  for  having  sent  a 
volume  that  kept  us  both  so  long  out  of  mischief. 

" '  If  books  was  alius  as  useful  as  that,  they'd 
do  for  me,'  said  she ;  and  though  this  speech 
did  not  mean  much,  it  was  a  great  deal  for 
Kitty  to  say ;  since,  not  being  herself  an  edu- 
cated person,  she  naturally  thought  that  'little 
enough  good  comes  of  larning.' 

"  Patty  and  I  had  our  favorites  amongst  the 
pictures.  Bogy,  now,  was  a  character  one  did 
not  care  to  think  about  too  near  bed-time.  I  was 
tired  of  Guy  Fawkes,  and  thought  he  looked 
more  natural  made  of  straw,  as  Dick  did  him. 
The  Dunce  was  a  little  too  personal ;  but  Old 
Father  Christmas  took  our  hearts  by  storm ; 
we  had  never  seen  anything  Uke  him,  though 
now-a-days  you  may  get  a  plaster  figure  of  him 
in  any  toy-shop  at  Christmas-time,  with  hair 
and  beard  like  cotton-wool,  and  a  Christmas- 
tree  in  his  hand. 

"The  custom  of  Christmas-trees  came  from 
Germany.     I    can   remember   when   they  were 


NOVELTY   ALWAYS    APPEARS    HANDSOME.      221 

first  introduced  into  England,  and  what  won- 
derful things  we  thought  them.  Now,  every 
village  school  has  its  tree,  and  the  scholars 
openly  discuss  whether  the  presents  have  been 
'good,'  or  'mean,'  as  compared  with  other  trees 
of  former  years. 

"The  first  one  that  I  ever  saw  I  believed 
to  have  come  from  good  Father  Christmas 
himself;  but  little  boys  have  grown  too  wise 
now  to  be  taken  in  for  their  own  amusement. 
They  are  not  excited  by  secret  and  mysterious 
preparations  in  the  back  drawing-room  ;  they 
hardly  confess  to  the  thrill  —  which  I  feel  to 
this  day  —  when  the  folding-doors  are  thrown 
open,  and  amid  the  blaze  of  tapers.  Mamma, 
like  a  Fate,  advances  with  her  scissors  to  give 
every  one  what  falls  to  his  lot. 

"  Well,  young  people,  when  I  was  eight 
years  old  I  had  not  seen  a  Christmas-tree, 
and  the  first  picture  of  one  I  ever  saw  was 
the  picture  of  that  held  by  Old  Father  Christ- 
mas in  my  godmother's  picture-book. 


222  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

" '  What  are  those  things  on  the  tree  ? '  I 
asked. 

" '  Candles/  said  my  father. 

"  *  No,  father,  not  the  candles ;  the  other 
things  ? ' 

"'Those  are  toys,  my  son.' 

"  '  Are  they  ever  taken  off  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  they  are  taken  off,  and  given  to  the 
children  who  stand  round  the  tree.' 

"  Patty  and  I  grasped  each  other  by  the 
hand,  and  with  one  voice  murmured,  '  How  kind 
of  Old  Father  Christmas  ! ' 

"By-and-by  I  asked,  'How  old  is  Father 
Christmas  ? ' 

"  My  father  laughed,  and  said,  '  One  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  thirty  years,  child,'  which 
was  then  the  year  of  our  Lord,  and  thus  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty  years  since 
the  first  great  Christmas  Day. 

"  *  He  looks  very  old,'  whispered  Patty. 

"  And  I,  who  was,  for  my  age,  what  Kitty 
called    'Bible-learned,'    said    thoughtfully,    and 


ANNO    DOMINI.  22$ 

with  some  puzzledness  of  mind,  *  Then  he's 
older  than  Methuselah.' 

"But  my  father  had  left  the  room,  and  did 
not  hear  my  difficulty. 

"  November  and  December  went  by,  and 
still  the  picture-book  kept  all  its  charm  for 
Patty  and  me;  and  we  pondered  on  and  loved 
Old  Father  Christmas  as  children  can  love  and 
realize  a  fancy  friend.  To  those  who  remember 
the  fancies  of  their  childhood  I  need  say  no 
more. 

"Christmas  week  came,  Christmas  Eve  came. 
My  father  and  mother  were  mysteriously  and 
unaccountably  busy  in  the  parlor  (we  had 
only  one  parlor),  and  Patty  and  I  were 
not  allowed  to  go  in.  We  went  into  the 
kitchen,  but  even  here  was  no  place  of  rest 
for  us.  Kitty  was  *all  over  the  place,'  as  she 
phrased  it,  and  cakes,  mince  pies,  and  puddings 
were  with  her.  As  she  justly  observed,  *  There 
was  no  place  there  for  children  and  books  to 
sit   with    their   toes    in    the   fire,  when  a  body 


224  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

wanted  to  be  at  the  oven  all  along.  The  cat 
was  enough  for  her  temper,'  she  added. 

**As  to  puss,  who  obstinately  refused  to 
take  a  hint  which  drove  her  out  into  the  Christ- 
mas frost,  she  returned  again  and  again  with 
soft  steps,  and  a  stupidity  that  was,  I  think, 
affected,  to  the  warm  hearth,  only  to  fly  at 
intervals,  like  a  football,  before  Kitty's  hasty 
slipper. 

"We  had  more  sense,  or  less  courage.  We 
bowed  to  Kitty's  behests,  and  went  to  the  back 
door. 

"  Patty  and  I  were  hardy  children,  and  accus- 
tomed to  *  run  out '  in  all  weathers,  without 
much  extra  wrapping  up.  We  put  Kitty's 
shawl  over  our  two  heads,  and  went  outside. 
I  rather  hoped  to  see  something  of  Dick,  for  it 
was  holiday  time ;  but  no  Dick  passed.  He 
was  busy  helping  his  father  to  bore  holes  in 
the  carved  seats  of  the  church,  which  were  to 
hold  sprigs  of  holly  for  the  morrow  —  that  was 
the   idea   of   church    decoration   in   my   young 


CHRISTMAS    COMES    BUT    ONCE   A    YEAR.       225 

days.  You  have  improved  on  your  elders  there, 
young  people,  and  I  am  candid  enough  to 
allow  it.  Still,  the  sprigs  of  red  and  green 
were  better  than  nothing,  and,  like  your  lovely 
wreaths  and  pious  devices,  they  made  one  feel 
as  if  the  old  black  wood  were  bursting  into  life 
and  leaf  again  for  very  Christmas  joy ! 

"And,  if  one  only  knelt  carefully,  they  did 
not  scratch  his  nose,"  added  Godfather  Garbel, 
chuckling  and  rubbing  his  own,  which  was 
large  and  rather  red. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "Dick  was  busy,  and 
not  to  be  seen.  We  ran  across  the  little  yard 
and  looked  over  the  wall  at  the  end  to  see  if 
we  could  see  anything  or  anybody.  From  this 
point  there  was  a  pleasant  meadow  field  sloping 
prettily  away  to  a  little  hill  about  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  distant ;  which,  catching  some  fine 
breezes  from  the  moors  beyond,  was  held  to  be 
a  place  of  cure  for  whooping-cough,  or  'kink- 
cough,'  as  it  was  vulgarly  called.  Up  to  the 
top  of  this  Kitty  had  dragged  me,  and  carried 


226  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

Patty,  when  we  were  recovering  from  the  com- 
plaint, as  I  well  remember.  It  was  the  only 
*  change  of  air '  we  could  afford,  and  I  dare  say 
it  did  as  well  as  if  we  had  gone  into  badly- 
drained  lodgings  at  the  seaside. 

"This  hill  was  now  covered  with  snow,  and 
stood  off  against  the  gray  sky.  The  white 
fields  looked  vast  and  dreary  in  the  dusk.  The 
only  gay  things  to  be  seen  were  the  red  berries 
on  the  holly  hedge,  in  the  little  lane  —  which, 
running  by  the  end  of  our  back-yard,  led  up  to 
the  Hall  —  and  a  fat  robin  redbreast  who  was 
staring  at  me.  I  was  watching  the  robin, 
when  Patty,  who  had  been  peering  out  of  her 
corner  of  Kitty's  shawl,  gave  a  great  jump  that 
dragged  the  shawl  from  our  heads,  and  cried 

'''Look!' 


CHAPTER   III. 


LOOKED. 

An  old  man 
was  coming 
alongthelane. 
His  hair  and 
beard  were  as 
white  as  cot- 
ton-wool.   He 

had  a  face  like  the  sort  of  apple  that  keeps  well 

in  winter ;  his  coat  was  old  and  brown.     There 

was  snow  about  him  in  patches,  and  he  carried 

a  small  fir-tree. 

"The  same  conviction  seized  upon  us  both. 

With  one  breath  we  exclaimed,  *  Hs  Old  Father 

Christmas  ! ' 

"  I  know  now  that  it  was  only  an  old  man  of 

the  place,  with  whom  we  did  not  happen  to  be 
(227) 


228  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

acquainted,  and  that  he  was  taking  a  little  fir- 
tree  up  to  the  Hall,  to  be  made  into  a  Christ- 
mas-tree. He  was  a  very  good-humored  old 
fellow,  and  rather  deaf,  for  which  he  made  up 
by  smiling  and  nodding  his  head  a  good  deal, 
and  saying,  '  Aye,  aye,  to  be  sure  ! '  at  likely 
intervals. 

**  As  he  passed  us  and  met  our  earnest  gaze, 
he  smiled  and  nodded  so  affably,  that  I  was 
bold  enough  to  cry,  '  Good  evening.  Father 
Christmas ! ' 

"  *  Same  to  you ! '  said  he,  in  a  high-pitched 
voice. 

"*Then  you  are  Father  Christmas,'  said 
Patty. 

" '  And  a  Happy  New  Year,'  was  Father 
Christmas's  reply,  which  rather  put  me  out. 
But  he  smiled  in  such  a  satisfactory  manner, 
that  Patty  went  on,  'You're  very  old,  aren't 
you  1 ' 

"  *  So  I  be,  miss,  so  I  be,'  said  Father  Christ- 
mas, nodding. 


"  With  one  breath  we  exclaimed,  '  Ifs  Old  Father 
Christinas !''  " 


(229) 


230  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

" '  Father  says  you're  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty  years  old,'   I  muttered. 

" '  Aye,  aye,  to  be  sure,'  said  Father  Christ- 
mas, '  I'm  a  long  age.' 

"A  very  long  age,  thought  I,  and  I  added, 
'  You're  nearly  twice  as  old  as  Methuselah,  you 
know,'  thinking  that  this  might  not  have  struck 
him. 

'' '  Aye,  aye,'  said  Father  Christmas  ;  but  he 
did  not  seem  to  think  anything  of  it.  After  a 
pause  he  held  up  the  tree,  and  cried,  *  D'ye 
know  what  this  is,  little  miss }  * 

"'A  Christmas-tree,'  said  Patty. 

"  And  the  old  man  smiled  and  nodded. 

*'  I  leant  over  the  wall  and  shouted,  '  But 
there  are  no  candles.' 

" '  By-and-by,'  said  Father  Christmas,  nod- 
ding as  before.  '  When  it's  dark  they'll  all  be 
lighted  up.     That'll  be  a  fine  sight ! ' 

*' '  Toys  too,  there'll  be,  won't  there .? '  screamed 
Patty. 

**  Father  Christmas  nodded  his  head.  '  And 
sweeties,'  he  added,  expressively. 


GAY    HOPE    IS    THEIRS.  23 1 

"I  could  feel  Patty  trembling,  and  my  own 
heart  beat  fast.  The  thought  which  agitated  us 
both,  was  this  —  'Was  Father  Christmas  bring- 
ing the  tree  to  us } '  But  very  anxiety,  and 
some  modesty  also,  kept  us  from  asking  out- 
right. 

"  Only  when  the  old  man  shouldered  his  tree, 
and  prepared  to  move  on,  I  cried  in  despair, 
*0h,  are  you  going.-*' 

"  '  I'm  coming  back  by-and-by,'  said  he. 

"  '  How  soon  } '  cried  Patty. 

« 

" '  About  four  o'clock,'  said  the  old  man, 
smiHng,  'I'm  only  going  up  yonder.' 

"And,  nodding  and  smiling  as  he  went,  he 
passed  away  down  the  lane. 

"  '  Up  yonder.'  This  puzzled  us.  Father 
Christmas  had  pointed,  but  so  indefinitely,  that 
he  might  have  been  pointing  to  the  sky,  or  the 
fields,  or  the  little  wood  at  the  end  of  the 
Squire's  grounds.  I  thought  the  latter,  and 
suggested  to  Patty  that  perhaps  he  had  some 
place  underground,  like   Aladdin's  cave,  where 


232  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

he  got  the  candles,  and  all  the  pretty  things  for 
the  tree.  This  idea  pleased  us  both,  and  we 
amused  ourselves  by  wondering  what  Old  Father 
Christmas  would  choose  for  us  from  his  stores 
in  that  wonderful  hole  where  he  dressed  his 
Christmas-trees. 

"'I  wonder,  Patty,'  said  I,  'why  there's  no 
picture  of  Father  Christmas's  dog  in  the  book.' 
For  at  the  old  man's  heels  in  the  lane  there 
crept  a  little  brown  and  white  spaniel,  looking 
very  dirty  in  the  snow. 

"  Perhaps  it's  a  new  dog  that  he's  got  to  take 
care  of  his  cave,'  said  Patty. 

"When  we  went  indoors  we  examined  the 
picture  afresh  by  the  dim  light  from  the  pas- 
sage window,  but  there  was  no  dog  there. 

"  My  father  passed  us  at  this  moment,  and 
patted  my  head.  *  Father,'  said  I,  '  I  don't 
know,  but  I  do  think  Old  Father  Christmas  is 
going  to  bring  lis  a  Christmas-tree  to-night..' 

"  *  Who's  been  telling  you  that } '  said  my 
father.     But  he  passed  on  before  I  could  ex- 


BY    FANCY    FED.  233 

plain  that  we  had  seen  Father  Christmas  him- 
self, and  had  had  his  word  for  it  that  he  would 
return  at  four  o'clock,  and  that  the  candles  on 
his  tree  would  be  lighted  as  soon  as  it  was  dark. 

"  We  hovered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  rooms 
till  four  o'clock  came.  We  sat  on  the  stairs 
and  watched  the  big  clock,  which  I  was  just 
learning  to  read  ;  and  Patty  made  herself  giddy 
with  constantly  looking  up  and  counting  the 
four  strokes,  towards  which  the  hour  hand 
slowly  moved.  We  put  our  noses  into  the 
kitchen  now  and  then,  to  smell  the  cakes  and 
get  warm,  and  anon  we  hung  about  the  parlor 
door,  and  were  most  unjustly  accused  of  trying 
to  peep.  What  did  we  care  what  our  mother 
was  doing  in  the  parlor .?  —  we  who  had  seen 
Old  Father  Christmas  himself,  and  were  ex- 
pecting  him    back  every    moment ! 

"  At  last  the  church  clock  struck.  The 
sounds  boomed  heavily  through  the  frost,  and 
Patty  thought  there  were  four  of  them.  Then, 
after  due  choking  and  whirring,  our  own  clock 


234  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

struck,  and  we  counted  the  strokes  quite  clearly 
—  one  !  two !  three !  four !  Then  we  got 
Kitty's  shawl  once  more,  and  stole  out  into  the 
back-yard.  We  ran  to  our  old  place,  and 
peeped,    but    could   see  nothing. 

'"We'd  better  get  up  on  to  the  wall,'  I  said  ; 
and  with  some  difficulty  and  distress  from  rub- 
bing her  bare  knees  against  the  cold  stones, 
and  getting  the  snow  up  her  sleeves,  Patty  got 
on  the  coping  of  the  little  wall.  I  was  just 
struggling  after  her,  when  something  warm  and 
something  cold  coming  suddenly  against  the 
bare  calves  of  my  legs,  made  me  shriek  with 
fright.  I  came  down  '  with  a  run,'  and  bruised 
my  knees,  my  elbows,  and  my  chin  ;  and  the 
snow  that  hadn't  gone  up  Patty's  sleeves,  went 
down  my  neck.  Then  I  found  that  the  cold 
thing  was  a  dog's  nose,  and  the  warm  thing  was 
his  tongue ;  and  Patty  cried  from  her  post  of 
observation,  *  It's  Father  Christmas's  dog,  and 
he's  licking  your  legs.' 

"  It  really  was  the  dirty  little  brown  and  white 


LOVE.  235 

spaniel ;  and  he  persisted  in  licking  me,  and 
jumping  on  me,  and  making  curious  little 
noises,  that  must  have  meant  something  if  one 
had  known  his  language.  I  was  rather  harassed 
at  the  moment.  My  legs  were  sore,  I  was  a 
little  afraid  of  the  dog,  and  Patty  was  very  much 
afraid  of  sitting  on  the  wall  without  me. 

"  '  You  won't  fall,'  I  said  to  her.  '  Get  down, 
will  you  } '  I  said  to  the  dog. 

" '  Humpty  Dumpty  fell  off  a  wall,'  said 
Patty. 

"  '  Bow  !  wow  ! '  said  the  dog. 

*'  I  pulled  Patty  down,  and  the  dog  tried  to 
pull  me  down  ;  but  when  my  little  sister  was  on 
her  feet,  to  my  relief  he  transferred  his  atten- 
tions to  her.  When  he  had  jumped  at  her,  and 
licked  her  several  times,  he  turned  round  and 
ran  away. 

"  *  He's  gone,'  said  I ;  '  I'm  so  glad.' 

**But  even  as  I  spoke  he  was  back  again, 
crouching  at  Patty's  feet,  and  glaring  at  her 
with  eyes  the  color  of  his  ears. 


236  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

"  Now  Patty  was  very  fond  of  animals,  and 
when  the  dog  looked  at  her  she  looked  at  the 
dog,  and  then  she  said  to  me,  '  He  wants  us  to 
go  with  him.' 

"On  which  (as  if  he  understood  our  language, 
though  we  were  ignorant  of  his)  the  spaniel 
sprang  away,  and  went  off  as  hard  as  he  could ; 
and  Patty  and  I  went  after  him,  a  dim  hope 
crossing  my  mind  — '  Perhaps  Father  Christ- 
mas has  sent  for  us.' 

"  This  idea  was  rather  favored  by  the  fact  that 
the  dog  led  us  up  the  lane.  Only  a  little  way  ; 
then  he  stopped  by  something  lying  in  the 
ditch  —  and  once  more  we  cried  in  the  same 
breath,   'It's  Old  Father  Christmas!* 


CHAPTER   IV. 


ETURNING  from 
the  Hall,  the  old  man 
had  slipped 
upon  a  bit  of 
ice,  and  lay 
stunned  in 
the  snow. 

"Patty    be- 
gan    to     cry. 

*  I  think  he's  dead,'  she  sobbed. 

"  '  He  is  so  very  old,  I  don't  wonder,'  I  mur- 
mured ;  'but  perhaps  he's  not.  I'll  fetch 
Father.' 

*'  My  father  and  Kitty  were  soon  on  the  spot. 
Kitty  was  as   strong  as  a  man ;   and   they  car- 
ried Father  Christmas  between   them  into  the 
kitchen.     There  he  quickly  revived. 
(237) 


238  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

"I  must  do  Kitty  the  justice  to  say  that  she 
did  not  utter  a  word  of  complaint  at  this  dis- 
turbance of  her  labors ;  and  that  she  drew  the 
old  man's  chair  close  up  to  the  oven  with  her 
own  hand.  She  was  so  much  affected  by  the 
behavior  of  his  dog,  that  she  admitted  him 
even  to  the  hearth  ;  on  which  puss,  being  acute 
enough  to  see  how  matters  stood,  lay  down 
with  her  back  so  close  to  the  spaniel's  that 
Kitty  could  not  expel  one  without  kicking  both. 

"For  our  parts,  we  felt  sadly  anxious  about 
the  tree ;  otherwise  we  could  have  wished  for 
no  better  treat  than  to  sit  at  Kitty's  round  table 
taking  tea  with  Father  Christmas.  Our  usual 
fare  of  thick  bread  and  treacle  was  to-night 
exchanged  for  a  delicious  variety  of  cakes, 
which  were  none  the  worse  to  us  for  being 
'tasters  and  wasters' — that  is,  little  bits  of 
dough,  or  shortbread,  put  in  to  try  the  state  of 
the  oven,  and  certain  cakes  that  had  got  broken 
or  burnt  in  the  baking. 

*'Well,    there   we   sat,    helping   Old    Father 


CHRISTMAS    TEA.  239 

Christmas  to  tea  and  cake,  and  wondering  in 
our  hearts  what  could  have  become  of  the  tree. 
But  you  see,  young  people,  when  I  was  a  child, 
parents  were  stricter  than  they  are  now.  Even 
before  Kitty  died  (and  she  has  been  dead  many 
a  long  year)  there  was  a  change,  and  she  said 
that  'children  got  to  think  anything  became 
them.'  I  think  we  were  taught  more  honest 
shame  about  certain  things  than  I  often  see  in 
little  boys  and  girls  now.  We  were  ashamed 
of  boasting,  or  being  greedy,  or  selfish;  we 
were  ashamed  of  asking  for  anything  that  was 
not  offered  to  us,  and  of  interrupting  grown-up 
people,  or  talking  about  ourselves.  Why, 
papas  and  mammas  now-a-days  seem  quite 
proud  to  let  their  friends  see  how  bold  and 
greedy  and  talkative  their  children  can  be ! 
A  lady  said  to  me  the  other  day,  '  You  wouldn't 
believe,  Mr.  Garbel,  how  forward  dear  little 
Harry  is  for  his  age.  He  has  his  word  in 
everything,  and  is  not  a  bit  shy !  and  his  papa 
never  comes  home  from  town  but  Harry  runs 


240  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

to  ask  if  he's  brought  him  a  present.  Papa 
says  he'll  be  the  ruin  of  him ! ' 

"  *  Madam,'  said  I,  '  even  without  your  word 
for  it,  I  arr^  quite  aware  that  your  child  is  for- 
ward. He  is  forward  and  greedy  and  intrusive, 
as  you  justly  point  out,  and  I  wish  you  joy  of 
him  when  those  qualities  are  fully  developed. 
I  think  his  father's  fears  are  well  founded.' 

"  But,  bless  me !  now-a-days,  it's  '  Come  and 
tell  Mr.  Smith  what  a  fine  boy  you  are,  and 
how  many  houses  you  can  build  with  your 
bricks,'  or,  'The  dear  child  wants  everything 
he  sees,'  or,  '  Little  pet  never  lets  Mamma  alone 
for  a  minute;  does  she,  love.?'  But  in  my 
young  days  it  was,  *  Self-praise  is  no  recom- 
mendation' (as  Kitty  used  to  tell  me),  or, 
*  You're  knocking  too  hard  at  No.  One '  (as  my 
father  said  when  we  talked  about  ourselves),  or, 
'  Little  boys  should  be  seen  but  not  heard '  (as  a 
rule  of  conduct  *in  company'),  or,  'Don't  ask 
for  what  you  want,  but  take  what's  given  you 
and  be  thankful.' 


CHRISTMAS    TREE.  24 T 

"And  SO  you  see,  young  people,  Patty  and  I 
felt  a  delicacy  in  asking  Old  Father  Christmas 
about  the  tree.  It  was  not  till  we  had  had  tea 
three  times  round,  with  tasters  and  wasters  to 
match,  that  Patty  said  very  gently,  'It's  quite 
dark  now.'     And  then  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"Burning  anxiety  overcame  me.  I  leant 
towards  Father  Christmas,  and  shouted  —  I  had 
found  out  that  it  was  needful  to  shout,  — 

" '  I  suppose  the  candles  are  on  the  tree 
now  ? ' 

"'Just  about  putting  of  'em  on,'  said  Father 
Christmas. 

"'And  the  presents,  too.^'  said  Patty. 

"'Aye,  aye,  to  be  sure,'  said  Father  Christ- 
mas, and  he  smiled  delightfully. 

"  I  was  thinking  what  farther  questions  I 
might  venture  upon,  when  he  pushed  his  cup 
towards  Patty,  saying,  '  Since  you  are  so  press- 
ing, miss,  I'll  take  another  dish.' 

"  And  Kitty,  swooping  on  us  from  the  oven, 
cried,    'Make   yourself    at    home,    sir;    there's 


242  OLD    FATHER   CHRISTMAS. 

more  where  these  came  from.  Make  a  long 
arm,  Miss  Patty,  and  hand  them  cakes.' 

"  So  we  had  to  devote  ourselves  to  the  duties 
of  the  table;  and  Patty,  holding  the  lid  with 
one  hand  and  pouring  with  the  other,  sup- 
plied Father  Christmas' s  wants  with  a  heavy 
heart. 

"At  last  he  was  satisfied.  I  said  grace, 
during  which  he  stood,  and  indeed  he  stood  for 
some  time  afterwards  with  his  eyes  shut — I 
fancy  under  the  impression  that  I  was  still 
speaking.  He  had  just  said  a  fervent  'Amen,' 
and  reseated  himself,  when  my  father  put  his 
head  into  the  kitchen,  and  made  this  remarkable 
statement,  — 

"'Old  Father  Christmas  has  sent  a  tree  to 
the  young  people.' 

"  Patty  and  I  uttered  a  cry  of  delight,  and  we 
forthwith  danced  round  the  old  man,  saying, 
*  Oh,  how  nice !  Oh,  how  kind  of  you  ! '  which 
I  think  must  have  bewildered  him,  but  he  only 
smiled  and  nodded. 


HOPE    IS    THE    DREAM.  243 

"*Come  along,'  said  my  father.  'Come, 
children.     Come,  Reuben.     Come,  Kitty.' 

"And  he  went  into  the  parlor,  and  we  all 
followed  him. 

"  My  godmother's  picture  of  a  Christmas-tree 
was  very  pretty ;  and  the  flames  of  the  candles 
were  so  naturally  done  in  red  and  yellow,  that 
I  always  wondered  that  they  did  not  shine  at 
night.  But  the  picture  was  nothing  to  the 
reality.  We  had  been  sitting  almost  in  the 
dark,  for,  as  Kitty  said,  'Firelight  was  quite 
enough  to  burn  at  meal-times.'  And  when  the 
parlor  door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  tree,  with 
lighted  tapers  on  all  the  branches,  burst  upon 
our  view,  the  blaze  was  dazzling,  and  threw 
such  a  glory  round  the  little  gifts,  and  the  bags 
of  colored  muslin  with  acid  drops,  and  pink  rose 
drops,  and  comfits  inside,  as  I  shall  never 
forget.  We  all  got  something  ;  and  Patty  and 
I,  at  any  rate,  believed  that  the  things  came 
from  the  stores  of  Old  Father  Christmas.  We 
were    not   undeceived    even   by   his    gratefully 


244  OLD    FATHER    CHRISTMAS. 

accepting  a  bundle  of  old  clothes  which  had 
been  hastily  put  together  to  form  his  present. 

"  We  were  all  very  happy ;  even  Kitty,  I 
think,  though  she  kept  her  sleeves  rolled  up, 
and  seemed  rather  to  grudge  enjoying  herself 
(a  weak  point  in  some  energetic  characters). 
She  went  back  to  her  oven  before  the  lights 
were  out,  and  the  angel  on  the  top  of  the  tree 
taken  down.  She  locked  up  her  present  (a 
little  work-box)  at  once.  She  often  showed  it 
off  afterwards,  but  it  was  kept  in  the  same  bit 
of  tissue  paper  till  she  died.  Our  presents 
certainly  did  not  last  so  long  ! 

"The  old  man  di^  about  a  week  afterwards, 
so  we  never  made  his  acquaintance  as  a  com- 
mon personage.  When  he  was  buried,  his  little 
dog  came  to  us.  I  suppose  he  remembered  the 
hospitality  he  had  received.  Patty  adopted 
him,  and  he  was  very  faithful.  Puss  always 
looked  on  him  with  favor.  I  hoped  during  our 
rambles  together  in  the  following  summer  that 
he  would   lead   us   at   last   to  the   cave  where 


OF    THE    WAKING.  245 

Christmas-trees    are    dressed.      But    he    never 
did. 

''  Our  parents  often  spoke  of  his  late  master 
as  '  old  Reuben,'  but  children  are  not  easily 
disabused  of  a  favorite  fancy,  and  in  Patty's 
thoughts  and  in  mine  the  old  man  was  long 
gratefully  remembered  as  Old  Father  Christ- 
mas." 


LIBRARY 

*u«  lact  Hate  stamped  below,  or 


LD2lA-30»i 
(H2472sl0)476 


General  Library 
University  of  CaUfornia 

Berkeley 


yS  37077 


